Peace of Mind
by Neva
Summary: REVISED VERSION. Fourth in the Wallglass Saga. Warring races, prejudice, the remnants of the past, and the mysterious future... those comic-book heroes and their human girlfriends always made it look so damn easy.
1. Prologue

A/N: Here's the Revised Edition of _Peace of Mind_. Most chapters will be familiar, but as you can see, I'm going to be doing some adding, removing, and moving around in certain places. IMPORTANT: If there's anything that was in the last story, or could have been (except faithfulness to Evo continuity), that you guys particularly want to see in this one, please tell me. 

To be inserted here: Your favorite variation on "I don't own anything from the X-Men universe."

Prologue

To: stevie_wonder@hotmail.com

From: jubilee@xnet.edu

Subject: life on the outside

So, are you adjusting to life on the outside any better? In your last email, you sounded like you were suffering total culture shock. Count your blessings. When classes are over, *we* have to practice racing the clock to keep Magneto from blowing up the universe. *You* get to do nice, normal things like studying or making out with your girlfriend. Or not, as the case may be. I can't believe that you haven't lost patience yet. After all, she *is* the reason you left, isn't it? The professor won't admit that; all he says is that you experienced a change of heart and that we can only hope you see the truth eventually. Or something. Bobby made some comments in the beginning about how you plan to use those powers of yours now that you and she are back together. I threw a firecracker at him. I think he's secretly glad to be in the position of fearless leader again.

I am totally happy for both of you (even though I think you've been "taking it slow" long enough; I thought she was totally okay with what you are). You actually (and this is where I start sounding corny, hope u have an airsick bag handy) listened to how you felt, which is more than I can say for most of us. Even Kitty's stopped seeing Lancey on Xavier's orders. I begged. I pleaded. I waved the corsage he'd given her at his graduation IN HER FACE. She just said that the professor knew best. Gack. Just goes to show you how tense things have gotten around here, even though, looking back over what I've written, I guess it doesn't really show. But in all seriousness, you should be glad you left. I think Bobby's exact words were, "Are we at war and nobody told me?"

It doesn't feel like it. Not yet, anyway. But (don't let go of that airsick bag, now) I have a feeling the worst is yet to come.

Can I say again how very, very glad I am that you got out when you did?

love,

Jubes

**

To: jubilee@xnet.edu

From: stevie_wonder@hotmail.com

Subject: Re: life on the outside

I guess I am pretty lucky. You don't sound too thrilled to be -- what was it -- keeping Magneto from blowing up the universe. Where do you stand on this whole humans-finding-out-the-truth thing? You told me that you were scared, that you wanted to stay safe. But now the superhero gig is losing its flavor. Am I right? Am I close?

Besides, you've got it all wrong. Phoebe does want to take her time, but it's more because of the history than anything else. We've been friends for ages, and she never even had a clue that I liked her. I think it's taking her a while to figure things out for herself. Which I don't mind.

I know that I can't go back to my old life, no matter what. Whatever I've got here is something new. But it's gotten a little better. My parents were considering sending me to some sort of shrink after the heard about the X-Men thing. Vi got this picture in her head of me in one of those uniforms. Cracked me up. The Dynamic Duo glanced at each other and Dad said, "He seems fine."

Home sweet home.

Sometimes I wonder if it's worth it. Now everyone at school who doesn't go around talking about killing mutants is labeled a "freak." Even the ninth-graders are getting into it, like this girl Tanya who just moved here with her brother. Oh, and guess who I saw on the news last night? Principal Kelly, talking about how important it is to identify mutants ahead of time. But I guess I'm not telling you anything you don't already know.

Hang in there, firecracker.

-- Stephen


	2. In a Strange Land

Chapter 1: In a Strange Land

At first sight, Tanya Trask was not impressed by Wallglass.

Some people might have been inclined to call her homesick, but she knew that the main symptom of homesickness was sadness, and she was anything but sad. She was _angry_. So what if she'd been the only girl in an apartment that seemed sometimes to overflow with her dad, her brother, and her brother's weird friends? So what if some lowlifes at school teased her about being a mad scientist's daughter? ("He's not a mad scientist," she had taken to saying primly. "He's a _weapons designer_." If she was dead embarrassed by her father's overzealous approach to each new project, not to mention a little freaked out about the mysterious greater good he claimed to be serving, _they_ never had to know about it.) So what if a Plague of Tourists was called down upon Washington every spring (to say nothing of the Plague of News Reporters that could be seen crowding up the streets), and the city was as ugly as sin the rest of the time? It the only home she'd ever known, tourists, museums, political scandals, and all; all her friends lived there; and she was trying to think about what she could have done to deserve being shipped off to a town filled with antique stores and cows.

She remembered the last fight she'd had with their father about it. 

_"What kind of project is so top secret that you have to send your own _children_ away while you work on it?"_

_"It's for the government."_

_"Yeah. Okay. Now I understand."_

_"Don't take —-"_

_"That tone with you, young lady? Watch me."_

"Tanya, please. I'd love to have you and your brother stay here while I work on this project, but it's better if you don't have much to do with it anyway."

_"Why not? Are you planning to blow up the world this time? Or — wait a minute, this has something to do with mutants. Doesn't it? Well, glad to see you've finally decided to join the rest of the whole entire _world_ on this one! Pushing your kids' _lives_ out of the way just because some people are being born with flippers!"_

_"I never said it had to do with mutants. I don't want to have to deal with your paranoia. I'm sorry you have to leave your friends, but you're just going to have to deal with it. And if Harold and Allison call me with news about you getting in trouble at school or being a brat to them…"_

_"I'm so _scared_!"_

And she had slammed the door. And rushed up to her room. And spent the next two hours talking online with Lori and Vanessa, wailing cyber-spacially about the injustice of it all. How her dad had totally gone off the deep end. How she was going to be stuck for God knew how long in a town she'd never been to in her life, with family friends she hadn't seen since she was still wearing Osh-Kosh overalls. And the only person she would even _know_ would be her creepy brother.

Judge Chalmers, one of Dad's oldest friends, wasn't much to brag about either. They had heard that he was efficient and obtuse in the courtroom; the problem was, Tanya could tell within an hour of meeting him that he was like that out of the courtroom, too. Even though he assured them from the first that they could call him by his first name, she had to resist the temptation to address him as "Your Honor."

At least his wife, Alison, was nice. She led them through rooms that didn't look like anyone lived in them, up a narrow flight of stairs, and down an equally narrow — and very dark — hallway. "Here's your room, Tanya," she said, opening a door on the left.

Tanya peered around the doorframe, got a general impression of flowers and flounces and pictures of more flowers in watering cans, and tried to hide a grimace. It was only with a very strict reminder of what these people were doing for her and Larry that she was able to turn back to Alison with a smile. "Thanks. It's great."

"You can decorate it however you want."

"Uh-huh." She hoisted her bag over her shoulder.

"This was my room when I was much younger. Harold and I inherited the house from my parents. Can I show you something?"

"Uh-huh," Tanya repeated.

Alison crossed the room, knelt down, and pointed to a small patch of bare wall where the fancy wallpaper had been carefully cut away. "Look here."

Tanya crouched beside her on the carefully sanded floor and peered closer. A heart was engraved into the wall, with the words "Allie and Lizzie — Best Friends Forever" etched inside. "Lizzie… my mom?"

"The four of us went to high school together. I'm sure your dad's told you that. You look a lot like her."

"Really?" Tanya barely remembered anything about her mother, who had died eleven years ago. She knew that Larry probably recalled more, but neither he nor their father ever talked about it. She'd seen plenty of pictures, though. "My hair's not really blond," she admitted. It had been an impulsive decision, made when she was walking in town on a Friday afternoon with a couple of hours to kill.

"No, your coloring's dark, like Rocket's."

"Rocket?"

"Your dad," Alison clarified. "He never liked the name Bolivar."

Tanya wrinkled her nose. "Who would?"

"We called him Rocket because his mind was always racing ahead." Alison smiled. "No, you it's more along the eyes and the mouth that you look like her. Do you remember her at all?"

"Not really. I was only three." Tanya was still trying to picture her father as anyone deserving of the nickname "Rocket" and failing miserably. She didn't want to let on how it had been at first, and how infuriating that she hadn't even been able to pick one thing that she missed. There wouldn't be any point, anyway, even to Liz's best friend. (Since Tanya had never used the word "Mother" that she could remember, she sometimes found herself using her mother's real name.)

"I'm glad you and Lawrence have come to stay with us."

"Thanks." It seemed a safe enough response either way.

"I'll leave you here to unpack."

"Uh-huh." When the door had closed behind her, Tanya closed her eyes and breathed deeply. Both ways. Okay, that could have gone worse. And it would be nice to be spending time with someone who had known Liz, who might be able to offer some idea of what she had been like.

Unpack. Okay. Clothes in the drawers and in the closet, books on the shelves. Posters to cover up as much wall space as possible. Hanging up the posters, she was struck by a sense of foreboding finality.

_What kind of project is so top secret that you have to send your own _children_ away while you work on it?_

Well, whatever it was (not that she wouldn't _demand_ an explanation for the whole secret-agent spiel when the whole thing had blown over), it was going to keep them here for a good long time. Antique stores, cows, and, in all probability, kids who walked around with pieces of straw in their mouths. Or something. All nine yards.

She supposed that she should go talk to Larry. She knew better than to expect them to band together to face the injustice, but it was possible that he knew more about what was going down than she did. Anyway, they had barely spoken since they'd gotten on the train, and she couldn't help but wonder how he was faring. Not that she expected him to tell her.

From her backpack, she removed a gel pen and a spiral-bound notebook. _Things to Do_, she wrote with a flourish.

_1. __Call Dad to let him know we got here safely. Make sure phones aren't tapped first. Ha-ha. Don't sound like you're worried for him about what he got himself into THIS time._

_2. __Attempt conversation with Larry._

_3. __Find computer. Email Lori and Vanessa w/ First Impressions._

_4. __Before it gets dark, MAYBE go out to investigate._

_5. __Decide what to wear for first day of school._

6. _If results of Item #5 prove unsatisfactory, implement survival plan and pretty damn quick. Wait, what as I saying "if"?_


	3. Promises to Keep

Chapter 2: Promises to Keep

_Phoebe Corlisle's New Year's Resolutions:_

_Do NOT angst about what-if-I'm-not-good-enough-to-sing-professionally. Pick other majors, other options, in case I am fooling myself._

_HOWEVER, keep eyes open for "entertainer wanted" fliers, ads, etc. forgetting for just a moment how few of them will be interested in "entertainment" from a 17-year-old._

_Keep grades up. Gack._

_HOWEVER, do not angst about college too much._

_You know how I've been systematically ignoring Jeff Price and Mike Owen and all those other creepazoids who like beating on anyone without an FOH pin? Let's keep it that way._

_Resolve any Issues I might have with Stephen. (So we kissed when the ball dropped on New Year's. What's that supposed to mean? Everyone was kissing. And at the lake, way back in October? Talk about emotional circumstances. He'd just spent the last few minutes inside my head. It. Does. Not. Mean. Anything.)_

_Try to figure out why I'd like it to mean something. Maybe. I guess that I shouldn't have been floored by anything else about Stephen at this point, but the news of his feelings for me hit me pretty hard. He says he's liked me since "you know... before." I know that he left the X-Men and came back for me, but that doesn't mean I don't want to take it slow. I told him this, and I pray that he understood._

_And maybe this next part comes with having been friends for so long: I can totally see us together, but not as a Couple. See, Couples walk through the halls with their hands in each other's pockets, go out every Friday, come back to school with tales of romance, action, and drama. He gives her some article of clothing; she writes long, detailed letters to him in whatever class they don't have together. They talk to each other online and spend every dance locked in each other's arms. Every time they have to be apart for even an hour, they say goodbye like someone's moving to a cave in Siberia._

_I did all that back in ninth grade, and I don't miss it. Reese was mature enough to realize that I knew how he felt about me even if he didn't call me as soon as I got home from school or nibble on my ear when I was trying to inch my voice down so it matched the other altos. That was one of the things I liked about him. He was above the whole high-school-established-Couple scene. I guess Stephen is the same way, because I can't imagine doing any of that stuff with him. Drive-in? Uh-uh. Mini-golf? Give me a break. Dancing? We've danced before, but I was no good at it. I kept stepping on his toes. As it is, we... hang out together, like we did back when we were just friends. Sometimes we eat lunch together. We've gone ice-skating a couple of times. That, I am good at. And we do a lot of talking. He's told me about some of his escapades at That Place, about his friends Kurt and Jubilee. They sound nice. I think he misses them sometimes._

_He doesn't read my mind (at least not on purpose). We don't talk about the "real" purpose of the X-Men. When we're together, it's easy and natural to forget that he's a mutant. It's just not an issue. But the line has to be drawn somewhere between not treating it like an issue and ignoring the truth. I've promised not to chase him away again, no matter what. I'm trying to make him feel like there's at least one person here on the outside who loves him for who he is. Because I do love him, even though I'm still trying to work out whether it's as a friend or what. I'm just worried about how much longer we can last the way things are._

_It's funny -- once, the only thing I wanted was for him to come back and for things to go back to the way they were. It just goes to show you that your wish being granted doesn't necessarily guarantee a happy ending._

_**_

_Stephen Spencer's New Year's Resolutions:_

_Somehow, prove to Phoebe that I'm the right one for her. Since I came home to stay a couple of months ago, we've kind of been on-again-off-again. But I'm getting desperate. Resolved: Find a way. Rule out NOTHING short of mind control._

_Keep eyes, ears, and mind open for news on the mutant controversy. Don't get too freaked out. It isn't good for me._

_Try not to go crazy in school._

_Try not to answer anyone's thoughts out loud._

_Get nice, normal job. Can't hurt. It would help if it didn't involve flipping burgers or cross-dressing, though._

_Speaking of normal, assume that I'm going to live to HAVE a future and start giving it some Serious Thought._

_Resist the urge to go postal at my parents whenever they talk about my "problem."_

_Keep in touch with Kurt and Jubes._

_Survive._

_Brainstorm harmless ways to bring Phoebe to her senses. (Did I list that one twice? Oh, well. It's kind of an important one.)_

_**_

_Angelina Corlisle's New Year's Resolutions:_

_Keep stooges on newspaper staff in line._

_Keep an eye on Haley, make sure she doesn't sell her soul to the devil or something._

_Same goes for Phoebe._

_If the going gets tough, do not seek solace from drugs, alcohol, mindless sex, or video games._

_Hang with Trish and Haley as much as possible._

_Write as much as possible._

_Keep both eyes open for potential love interest. Hah. Should he, by chance, some along, don't scare him off._

_I made this list of resolutions even though I'm sure that I'm not the only one who doesn't see the point of New Year's. I think the people who say "See you next year" on Dec. 31 are actually proving something of a point. I am still exactly the same person I was yesterday, with the same hang-ups, the same worries, and the same memories. I know as well as everyone that, yes, a life can change in a matter of hours, minutes, or even seconds. But it doesn't change just because the calendar starts over again._

_I think it's more of an excuse to try to be a better person than you were for the last 365 days._

_I wonder how many resolutions actually get kept._


	4. Neutrality Tactics

Chapter 3: Neutrality Tactics

It wasn't that Angelina thought her sister had made a bad choice. She was happy for Phoebe, truly, even though she thought Stephen was being a little smug and obnoxious when he made up reasons for his year-long absence. His current favorite had to do with the witness protection program and some hyperintelligent penguins.

And there was the problem of their taking a big risk in being together in the first place. Phoebe tended to look for the simple answers to everything, and it was very possible that she assumed that now that Stephen was back for good, everything would be okay. That nobody would ever make the connections that would lead to Phoebe being branded a "freak-lover" in more ways than one.

She knew that any sort of confrontation would possibly result in her being labelled herself, as just another person who didn't want things to work out. Cynicism, impulsiveness -- she knew that these were traits that she possessed, and she wasn't ashamed of them. After all, when the witch-hunts that Haley had described were starting up again, and worse than ever, a little bit of cynicism was justified. And considering the cause of said witch-hunts, paranoia was... well, maybe it wasn't justified. But it was understandable. As a journalist, Angelina had always tried to see both sides of every issue (despite the validity of her dad's remark, "If Angel doesn't have an opinion on it, it probably doesn't exist"), but this was sounding more and more like a case where not choosing a side at all was the last nail in your coffin, especially with Graydon Creed's junior stormtroopers patrolling the halls.

She had other things to worry about besides her sister's precarious love life, anyway. Like college, the school paper, and trying to work it out so that she could stay with her dad during the summer, after she graduated. That way, if Joanne's future choices did result in mere embarrassment, it wouldn't effect anyone else too directly.

"Um, hi."

The voice spoke from her left elbow, a little bit louder than the surrounding hallway chatter. It took her a minute to realize not only was it directed at her, but it belonged to a tall, dark-haired, and, yes, relatively handsome boy who was studying a class schedule as he tried to keep pace with the rest of the shuffle.

"Yeah?" As she took stock of him, from the close-clipped black hair to the bomber jacket to the steel-toed boots, she sensed him sizing her up, too: reddish-blond hair streaked crimson, layers of necklaces, three rings on each hand, ripped jeans. "Are you new?"

"Uh-huh. Can you tell me where the wood-tech room is?"

"Sure. Once we get to the end of this hall, make a right and then a left."

"Thanks. Do they make this place confusing on purpose?"

"Totally." She had figured out long ago that the school was the maze, the kids were the rats, and graduation was the cheese. "So what brings you here?"

"My sister and I are staying with relatives while our dad's away on some sort of business negotiation..." The guy waved his hand around vaguely. "Some sort of business negotiation thing. In D.C. He has major government connections." 

"Secret agent?" Angelina said hopefully.

The guy smiled. "Weapons design."

"Secret agent weapons?"

The smile became a very satisfactory grin. "I could tell you, but then I'd have to kill you. So I go that way, right?" He pointed.

"Yup, and then make a left. Hey, what lunch do you have?"

He squinted at the schedule. "I think... first lunch?"

"Well, I'll look for you, uh..." He stared at her expectantly. "What's your name?" she asked patiently. Boys. _Honestly_.

"Oh. Um, Larry. Larry Trask."

"I'm Angelina. I have first lunch, too. I'll try to find you, okay?"

"Right." He lifted his hand in the classic slick-dude wave. "See ya, Angelina."

"See you," she echoed, realizing as soon as he was out of sight that she didn't have time to reflect on what had just happened if she wanted to make it to environmental science on time. _What happened to my goal of making it through high school without getting caught in the romance trap? He's probably gay. Or has a girlfriend back home. Or an extra ear on top of his head._

A/N: A week isn't a long absence by comparison, but it's long for me. I know you've seen this chapter before, but I just had this feeling like if I didn't post something, I'd go stark raving mad.

Thoughts on "The Toad, The Witch, and the Wardrobe":

Is it just me, or is a Toad-centric episode long overdue? I'm told he had a nice big chunk of a part in the series premiere, but it's been a while since then. I've thought his crush on Wanda was sort of sweet ever since it was introduced in Day of Recovery. And it makes sense. She's gorgeous, willful, and totally inaccessible. He's funny-looking, tries too hard to get attention, and doesn't think anyone would _want_ access to him. He's admittedly not a bad guy under all the slime and attitude, and this episode proved it. Like Kurt pointed out, he did put his ass on the line for her. (The conversation just before they entered Maggie's base could have come off as unbelievably corny, but it didn't, mainly because Todd and Kurt still don't like each other just because they have this in common.)

Pietro's domination of the boys was perfect — exactly the way I (and plenty of other writers) pictured it. I was cheering for Lance when he "moved" the armchair. I liked the fact that Scott and Jean didn't mysteriously change into their costumes on the bridge. Of course, my favorite part of the whole episode was the interplay between Kurt and Amanda. It finally followed up on the relationship that's only been touched on briefly since Shadow Dance, and provided the ideal foil to Toad's lobbying for Wanda's affections. Amanda behaved wonderfully throughout the "meet the parents" sequence, constantly trying to smooth things over for her family while making sure Kurt knew that she was with him, no matter what. The scene between them at the end was darling. And Margali's here — yay!

Evo Mastermind was didn't look like his comics counterpart at _all_, but that was okay. Magneto's become a little more evil in my eyes now. I happen to like that Wanda snowboards — not sure why — and that she can be attracted to another person just like everyone else. However, the way the episode ended pissed me off. I feel sorry for the writers if they think that the only way they can make a character seem human again is if theymake her forget everything about her past. They had better be going somewhere with the issue of Wanda's new, false memories, and not just leave it as a cheap plot device.

All in all, though, the whole thing rocked, besides being the latest of only three Xavier-free episodes in the history of the show. (Day of Reckoning didn't count, since we thought it was him right up until the end.)


	5. The Best of Both Worlds

Chapter 4: The Best of Both Worlds

The familiar sound of keys clacking on a typewriter filled the house as Stephen let himself in. An almost-familiar voice rose over the steadying beat: "Darren, the viewers are going to lose interest if you just have her wake up. We don't even know how she got into the coma in the first place."

Then his father's voice: "She got pushed down the elevator shaft."

"Which was your idea. Not mine. Who pushed her?"

"I don't know."

"Why?"

"I don't know."

"Did they know she was pregnant?"

"I don't know."

"Well, there you go." Stephen recognized the voice now, and groaned inwardly. The other writer on _Nebula Vista_ had always been a force to be reckoned with. "Yes, we're bringing her out of the coma eventually. But this is a _soap opera_. There have to be complications. Who do I hear out there?"

Sigh. "Hi, Dad. Hi, Alexandra. It's just me." He made his way quickly upstairs, hoping against hope that he wouldn't have to deal with Alexandra, who called him "Stanley" and subversively took the credit for all of Darren's ideas. But that didn't matter, any more than it mattered that this weekend was going to be overloaded with history homework.

"Stevie!"

He turned around slowly, halfway up the stairs. "What is it, Vi?"

His ten-year-old sister was staring innocently up at him. "Nothing. You just have this incredibly goofy grin on your face."

He hadn't noticed. "Huh."

"What happened?" Without waiting for an answer, her face spread into a goofy grin of its own. "You've got a _date_, don't you?"

"Maybe."

"With Phoebe?"

"Maybe."

Vi jumped about a foot in the air. "Yes!"

Stephen rolled his eyes and continued up the stairs. It seemed like everyone, from his little sister to the evil genius who'd been training him, had something to say about his relationship — such as it was — with the girl who'd been his best friend for six years.

No matter how complex a possible relationship might be, there was nothing complicated about his feelings for Phoebe. He loved her more than he'd ever thought he could love anyone. They'd been best friends since sixth grade and he'd been infatuated with her since the beginning of high school, but it wasn't until last year, when his own family started treating him like an outcast, that he realized how _necessary_ she was. He had always thought she was beautiful and smart and sweet and had a singing voice that could knock your socks off, and yes, _of course_ he had considered that it might have still been infatuation. He wasn't far gone enough to rule that out.

But when you'd already been inside someone's head, how could you base anything on what you saw?

He'd encountered her outside school after the last bell, looking ready to choke something, preferably Jeff Price or Ms. Rivers. In short order he'd heard all about her disastrous day (which had included token appearances from both of them), walked her to her car, and, before she opened the door to get in, taken the plunge.

_"Want to go see a movie tonight?"_

_"What kind of a movie?"_

_"Aliens. Fast cars. Probably some destruction of national landmarks. All the stuff you like."_

_"No, I think _you_ like national landmarks part." Pause. "Are you asking meout?"_

_"Well, since I'm _asking_ if you want to go _out_ of your house and come see a movie with me, then, yeah."_

_"You know what I mean. Are you, you know, asking me out?"_

_"If I tell the truth, will you still want to go?"_

_"Uh-huh."_

_"Then, yeah, that is what I'm doing."_

Now, alone in his room, he pinched himself. "Ouch." It was real, all right. One of his New Year's Resolutions was about to be accomplished.

_Is this a good idea? What if she doesn't want…_

Then once he got over the crushing feeling of abandonment, he would remind himself that the only thing that mattered was that she was on his side again, that she would always love him as a friend, and that there was another girl — a certain Miss Jubilation Lee — who would be more than happy to go out with him. And he with her.

Yeah, right.

_Okay, use what you know,_ he instructed himself firmly. _Will she be impressed with flowers? With how I look?_ Not that he had dressed up since Joanne and Andrew's wedding, and even that had been under protest. Besides, they were just going to the movies. He wondered what she was wearing. If she'd let her sister pick her outfit… he shuddered at the thought. Not that there was anything wrong with Angelina's taste, but her ideas for other people tended to run toward the… well, "extreme" would be putting it mildly.

His experience with girls thus far was spectacularly lacking. There had been Dawn Richards, she of the bleach-blond hair and three-inch-long nails, way back at the beginning of high school. The two of them had double-dated with Phoebe and Jerry a couple of times, but neither relationship had lasted very long. He remembered how fond she was of grape bubble gum and Brad Pitt movies, and how much she liked showing him off at parties. And rich, inaccessible Candy, whom he'd once tried to impress by serenading her from her backyard. Needless to say, that hadn't worked out very well, either. He had no idea what he had done to get Jubilee so interested in him, and had never asked, because he wasn't supposed to know how she felt. Besides, Bobby liked her, too.

_Just be yourself. She's known you too long to be fooled by any lame tricks you could pull. And for God's sake try to stay out of her mind._

Okay. Immediate goal: to kill time until he would have to get ready for real.

Obstacle: he wasn't as alone as he'd originally thought.

His first thought was to yell for his parents, or call the police. His second was that this was a dream, after all. His third was that the otherwise ordinary-looking guy in the trench coat standing by his window had noticeably un-ordinary red and black eyes, and the fewer mutants Charity and Darren thought were under this roof, the better. "How'd you get in here?" Stephen demanded.

"T'rough de window." The stranger's voice was freakishly calm, and he had some kind of accent Stephen couldn't quite place — French, maybe. "It was a piece of cake," he added disdainfully. "Allow me to introduce myself: Gambit, at your service, M'seiu Spencer."

"How did you know my name?" This was getting more surreal by the second. If his parents or Violet came up here now, he was so dead he didn't even want to think about it.

"I know quite a few t'ings. F'r instance, am I right t'think it's been t'reemonths that you been away from de X-Men?"

Stephen wished he could say that this was the last thing he'd expected, but somehow, he had known it all along. Neither Kurt nor Jubilee had mentioned a new recruit, but who knew what had happened in the time since he'd gone? "Give or take," he said shortly.

"An' you been likin' it on the outside?" Gambit leaned against the wall as if he intended on staying there for a long, long time. "Yo' family, dey glad to have you back? Dey like livin' with a freak? Dey even know what you are?"

"Yeah. So what?" Stephen demanded. "Look, this is crazy. I don't know who the hell you are or why Xavier sent you instead of one of my friends, but you can tell him I'm not coming back. I'm sorry."

"You got me all wrong…"

"And I have a date in a little while. So leave."

Gambit's mouth twitched upward in a smile. "You wan' Gambit to leave?"

"Please!"

"Den make me."

"Huh?"

"You wan' me to leave, you make me leave. Otherwise everyone else in dis house is gonna know I'm here. You got dat… Messiah?"

That did it. "You don't think I'd do it, do you?" Stephen asked. "Well, watch me." Gritting his teeth, he raised his hands to his head.


	6. From the Source

Chapter 5: From the Source

"They're offering what?" Angelina repeated.

"Internships." Trish Markham sounded out each syllable as though her classmate were hard of hearing. "The _Spectacle_ is offering internships to interested journalism students. Interested?"

"Angel, how do you think this would look?" Phoebe called from the doorway, holding up a velvet shirt with trailing sleeves.

From her place sprawled across her bed, Angelina turned her face away from the mouthpiece of the portable phone. "Put it in the Probably Maybe pile, babe." To Trish, "Sorry. How did I not hear about this?"

"Mr. Caisson announced it yesterday, but you rushed out of the room the second the bell rang. Are you going to talk to him tomorrow?"

"Rhetorical questions much?" Angelina came right back. "Of course I will. Thanks, Trish."

"Welcome."

After they'd hung up, Angelina rolled over to see her twin back in the doorway, displaying a shirt in each hand and a pleading expression on her face. "I like the neck on the blue one, but the green goes better. What do you think?"

"Why are you asking me all these questions? You know me and clothes."

"Come on, you have great style. Not that I can dress like you on a date. Come into my room for a sec."

The room in question was nearly unrecognizable under the heaps of jeans, skirts, and shirts covering the bed, dresser, and chairs. Smart remarks failed Angelina. "Whoa," was all she could say.

"I know. I'm terrible, aren't I?"

"Horrendous. Why are you so worked up?"

"Because this is the first time we're going out," Phoebe replied promptly.

"You guys have been out a thousand times."

"You know what I mean."

"I think you're ignoring reality here," Angelina told her. "As usual. This isn't some transcendent gothy poet boy you're trying to impress."

"Hey!"

"I was making a point."

"I know," Phoebe repeated. "I've just… gotten used to thinking that I had to get prep myself before a date. That it was part of the routine. That I needed… _moves_."

"You've been watching too many reruns of _Friends_. You don't need any of that. This is Stephen, remember?"

"I know. It's just, we've been friends for so long, and since he got back, we've been kind of thinking… but we've never actually _talked _about it."

"How's it feel, knowing he likes you?"

"Weird." Phoebe smiled slightly. "Okay, very weird. Like I should have seen it coming. Damn, I probably _did_ see it coming. But I was… distracted."

Angelina winced. She'd been wondering when either of them was going to bring that up. "I know you were," she said patiently. "But that's over."

"_You_ don't think it's weird, do you?"

Angelina racked her brains for a satisfactory answer. "Personally? No. But I think you're going to have to be the final judge." She picked up the green blouse. "This is a definite keeper. Find some jewelry to go with it. How about that little bracelet with the light green stones?"

"Can't," Phoebe said in her best I-know-the-Rules voice. "It was a present from Reese. I'll find something else." She paused. "You really don't think I should angst too much about how I look?"

Angelina laughed. "Trust me — you'll look great no matter what. And the biggest decision he's probably making right now is which one of his goofy T-shirts he wants to wear."

**

After about a minute, Gambit said, "You can put your hands down now, homme."

Stephen did. "What…"

"Forgot to tell you." Gambit tapped his forehead. "No one can get in here if I don' want dem to. Part of my training."

"So why…" _Note to self: learn to finish your sentences._

"Dis is a test, dis is only a test. And quite a show from de boy who still be _so_ afraid to use his powers." A beat. "Or maybe just so afraid of how powerful it would make you feel, t'inking you could make Gambit hop on one foot, or t'row m'self out dat window, or forget why I even come here."

Stephen stared at him. "Nice one. What else did he tell you?"

"What else did who tell me?"

"Xavier. He did send you, right?"

Gambit laughed. "You t'ink I work for that shiny-headed pacifist dreamer? T'ink again. I'm not fit to be an X-Man, and you never seemed much like it either. 'S why I be here."

"Are you with the Brotherhood?"

"In a sense. Lemme ask you something. What he ever tell you about Magneto?"

"Not much, actually," Stephen admitted.

"Is what I t'ought. Now, Xavier pretend he likes us to get along wit' humans, but he be de one to call the shots. He t'ink he can train his disciples to protect dem. Magneto knows dey're not ours to protect."

"No, he thinks they're ours to enslave. I know _that_."

"You believe Xavier told you the truth? About anyt'ing? And even if it was true, why would dat be so bad?"

"If you know so much about me, you should know that —"

"Dat you left de X-Men to be wit' some human girl?" Gambit finished for him. "I know dat's why you t'ink you left."

Stephen was beginning to become seriously upset. "Fact: I don't belong with Xavier. I don't belong with the Brotherhood. I don't belong in the mutant world _at all_. I came back here so I could live a normal life."

"And dere's no problem wit' dat. Except for one tiny little detail: you're not normal. Never will be again. You got amazin' power right between your ears, it wouldn't have happened unless it was meant to, and you're livin' wit' people who make you shamed to use it. You t'ink about dat." And without waiting for a response, he leapt out the open window.

To which Stephen immediately ran, and stared out over the shadow-filled lawn. He could see Alexandra walking out to her VW Bug. A very leafblower-happy Mr. Freed was clearing his own yard… sort of. A typical suburban late afternoon.

Nowhere was there any sign of Gambit.


	7. Bright Side

Chapter 6: Bright Side

The doorbell rang once, twice.

"Please come in… Stephen." Joanne hesitated as she spoke his name, showing her teeth in a not-quite-smile. "Phoebe's been waiting for you."

Phoebe had, in fact, torn down the stairs in a fruitless effort to intercept her mother. She tripped over the last step and fell in a heap. So much for making an entrance. She was sure her face was turning crimson. "Hi," she said.

"Are you okay?" Stephen wanted to know.

"Yeah. Sorry about that."

He helped her to her feet. "You look… nice."

"So do you." She found herself scrutinizing his every detail, as if she'd never seen him before. Whatever shirt he had decided on was hidden under his familiar denim jacket. He'd gotten his hair cut a couple of weeks ago, but it was already beginning to fluff out again. "Shall we?"

"My tasty vun, ve shall claim ze night as our own!" he proclaimed.

"Well…" Joanne hesitated again. "Have fun. Be back before midnight."

"Or else we'll both turn into pumpkins," Phoebe murmured as they slipped out the door toward Darren's Midlife-Crisis-Mobile. She expected Stephen to laugh. He didn't. "You okay?"

"What? I'm fine. Just nervous." He managed a grin. "So am I doing okay so far? I don't think I impressed your mom too much?"

"It's part of the routine," she assured him. "Parents are supposed to be suspicious. If that's all you're worried about, then you don't have to be nervous at all."

"I am anyway."

"Don't be. What could happen?"

"Do not jinx it, tasty vun," he warned.

She paused at the car. "Stephen? I'm really glad you asked me out, and I'll do my best not to jinx it. But if you call me 'tasty one' again, I'm turning you over to the Friends of Humanity."

He gulped. "Gotcha." And they were off.

**

Phoebe found herself enjoying the movie. The aliens and explosions didn't much interest her; in fact, it seemed to be the UFO cultists that were stealing the show. (She expected her date to make some remark about the effectiveness of tinfoil hats, but he didn't say a word.) She didn't know precisely why this is — maybe because she'd once been a step up from being one of them herself. In any case, she knew perfectly well that enjoying the movie was against the Rules, which clearly stated that the date itself was just a way to postpone the inevitable petting session on Melon Drive.

She was, of course, familiar with the Rules — what Angelina called the Mating Dance — from the Attention Attraction to Letting Him/Her Down Gently. And she'd always chosen — or been chosen by — boys who knew them as well as she did, and played by them. Even with her last boyfriend, a supposed nonconformist, the pattern was still there: Reese was Reese, and she was His Girlfriend. That was how his parents had seen her, no matter how much they had seemed to like her, how the rest of his band, the Screaming Civilians, had seen her… even how Jasmine, her best girl friend, had seen her. (And for a nonconformist, Reese sure had a lot of followers.)

It wasn't that she hadn't liked Reese. She had. But somewhere along the line, she'd realized that she would be obliged to smile and be charming for him even though she felt like killing herself inside. He was the angst-ridden, perpetually world-weary one, and it would have been in violation of decorum as His Girlfriend to have any problems of her own (even if they'd been the kind of problems she could have shared with him); her feelings were only viewed in relation to his. All she had to do was show up, look nice, smell nice, be supportive. All the charter Couples in the school were that way, and she'd become mighty sick of it.

Being with someone who scorned labels, scorned the Rules, managed to make her feel okay about finally doing the same, and managed to be so totally cool and unobtrusive about it all, made for a nice change. She had to admit that much, even though she had no idea where they were going with this. If anywhere.

On occasion, she glanced up at Stephen to find his eyes focused on the screen but not really watching. "Are you sure you're okay?" she whispered.

"Shhh!" hissed the jock-type in front of her.

"Sorry." She looked over at Stephen again. He nodded almost imperceptibly.

"Okay," she whispered, not believing him for a second but willing to leave it at that.

**

When they finally exited the theater, Phoebe blinked, as always, at even the forlorn lighting of the lobby. 

"How'd you like it?" Stephen asked.

"I did like it. Especially when that one scientist used her kid's recipe for cheese sauce to make the thingy that would destroy the aliens."

"I was personally in favor of when that one scaly guy tried to dress up like a human and order pizza." He pitched his voice to an extraterrestrial squeak. "What — part — of — the — human —physique — does — pepperoni — enrich?"

She laughed. "I remember going to see this movie with Jasmine and Isobel, some thriller about an ocean disaster, and the guy who came out of the theater as we were coming in was all, 'Oh, yeah, the boat doesn't blow up.'"

"Evil."

"Very." She shrugged her jacket over her shoulders and they stepped out into the frigid night. It was overcast, the moon a pale shadow. She took a deep breath of clean, icy air. "Do you want snow as much as I do?"

"Sunday. Then we'll have no school."

They faced each other under the glowing Theater Near You sign. Not too far away, a bunch of kids from Norton High were sharing cigarettes on the steps of the next building over. "I'm having a great time."

"Me, too," he admitted.

"I told you that you didn't need to be nervous."

He switched to a very passable Peter Falk imitation. "Yes, you're very smart. Shut up." Quoting _The Princess Bride_ to each other had become as much of a private tradition as watching it at slumber parties. "So. What do the Rules dictate for next."

She stared at him, not sure whether or not that was another joke.

"I'm serious."

She took the bait. "Okay, from here on in, the date becomes kind of like a Choose Your Own Adventure Book. Turn to page 35 to take her home and kiss her goodnight. If you choose to say, 'If you want, this doesn't have to end just yet,' turn to page 103. That takes you…" She couldn't look at him. "Up toward Melon Drive."

"Which one do you want?" He didn't look too comfortable himself, and didn't try to hide it.

"Well, I don't want it to end just yet, but…"

He held up a finger. "Wait. I have a great idea."

"Where are we going?" she asked once they were back in the car.

"Fisherman's Horizon." That was the next town over.

"What's in Fisherman's Horizon?" Phoebe asked suspiciously.

"You'll see."

**  
  
"I don't get it," she complained. They were parked in front of a restaurant called the Outpost. There was an ordinary-looking awning in front and an ordinary-looking menu pasted in the window.

Stephen pointed to the sign next to it.

Phoebe stared. "No. Way. You are so evil!"

"Come on, you love to sing."

"But karaoke?"

"What's wrong with that?"

"I'll sound stupid," she said immediately.

"Everyone sounds stupid when they do this. You'll pick a song, everyone will clap, it'll be fun. Look," he sighed. "You don't have to do this if you don't want to. But everyone inside is going to be wasted. They always are on Karaoke Night. And if you do suck — _which you won't_ — I can always wipe their memories."

"Stephen!"

"_That_ was a joke. You know I wouldn't." He was getting that far-off, distracted look again.

"You'd better not," she said firmly, bringing him back down to earth.

"Does that mean you'll do it?"

It was her turn to sigh. "Okay, yeah. Let's go inside."

There, she picked up a request card from the basket in front, thought for a moment before writing her name and her song on the lines, and gave it to the guy in the cowboy had who was picking up the cards. Then they sat at a table in the corner, ordered sodas, and waited. Stephen had been right — by now, they were probably among the few remaining sober people in the restaurant.

The girl onstage, who was singing (or, rather, whining) an Alicia Keyes song, finished up and Cowboy Hat got back onstage. He squinted at the card. "Phoebe Cor-lissel?" he asked.

Phoebe rose, rolling her eyes. She could see Stephen giving her a thumbs up.

Once she'd reached the platform, she took a deep breath and waited for the machine to cue up. _It's just for fun_, she reminded herself, and began.

_"The streets of my town are not what they were_

_They are hallowed in anger, bitter and hurt_

_And it's not so you'd notice but it's a sinister thing_

_Like the wheels of ambition at a christening_

_So I went out walking on the streets of the dead_

_With a chip on my shoulder and a voice in my head_

_It said you have been brought here_

_Though you don't know what for_

_Well, the mystery train is coming right to your door."_

Her voice had cracked on that last line. _Oh, God, oh, God_. Her audience, such as they were, didn't seem to care. Stephen was grinning again.

_"And I hear you calling_

_You don't have to call so loud_

_I see you falling_

_You don't have to walk so proud_

_You can run all night_

_But we can take you where_

_You can cry like an angel."_

A bit better now. She was still going to kill him for this, though.

_"There were high school night dances_

_Where we played stump the band_

_We were raising each other_

_In a strange land_

_There were hard pills to swallow_

_But we drank them all down_

_Oh, the nights were too short then_

_And now they're a little too long_

_But I hear you calling_

_And you don't have to call so loud_

_I see you falling_

_And you don't have to walk so proud_

_You can run all night_

_But we can take you where_

_You can shout out in anger_

_You can look like a fool_

_You can cry like an angel."_

And now she was laughing as she sang. It was the weirdest thing. Here she was, in a strange restaurant on a Friday night, singing karaoke to a bunch of bleary-eyed strangers and her amazing (and incidentally telepathic) almost-boyfriend (almost as weird of a concept as her being someone's girlfriend), once her best friend, then her inadvertent tormentor, who was wearing a T-shirt that said_ I Took The Road Less Traveled And Now Where the Heck Am I?_ And she was wearing the green silk blouse that she'd spent an hour picking out, and she knew that as far as he was concerned she could have been wearing a feed sack and their host's cowboy hat, because he didn't care how much she tried to impress him. Angelina had been right. He would love her no matter what. No matter how she felt about him or how confused she was, she knew that much was true.

She gathered herself for the last verse.

_"So look homeward, baby_

_Keep your eyes on the sky_

_They will never forgive you_

_So don't ask them to try_

_This is your party_

_I know it's not your ideal_

_May we all find salvation_

_In professions that heal_

_And I hear you calling_

_You don't have to call so loud_

_I see you falling_

_And you don't have to walk so proud_

_You can run all night_

_But we can take you where_

_You can shout out an answer_

_You can look like a fool_

_You can call up to heaven_

_We'll be listening to you_

_You can sing hallelujah_

_You can fly like a bird_

_You can cry like an angel_

_When there are no words."_

**

A/N: I guess this unnecessarily long chapter serves as a precursor to the part later on when Phoebe sings in front of her family. The song, by the way, is "Cry Like an Angel" by Shawn Colvin. I can't listen to it without thinking of these two, and I've been waiting for a chance to use it.


	8. Close at Hand

Chapter 7: Close at Hand   
  
  
  
The phone was shrilling incessantly. The last person in the house who was even remotely awake tiptoed into the hall to answer it. "Um, Chalmers residence."   
  
  
  
"Lawrence?" The voice was crisp and completely awake. "It's your father. Did I wake you?"   
  
  
  
Larry sighed. He should have been used to the hours the Mad Scientist kept, shouldn't have been surprised at all by calls at this hour of the night. "No."   
  
  
  
"How are you?"   
  
  
  
"Fine."   
  
  
  
"How are Harold and Alison?"   
  
  
  
"They're good." Larry rubbed his eyes. Right. Harold was never around and acted more like a robot than a human being when he was — it was obvious why he and Bolivar had been friends; they both lived on a completely different plane of reality and had no idea how to relate to other people. _Not that I've ever won any door prizes for that either, _Larry thought. _Whatever that means _.  
  
  
  
"School?"   
  
  
  
School had never been easy for him, but he saw no reason to remind his dad of that. Of course, was eleventh grade easy for anyone? "It's okay."   
  
  
  
"Are the Friends of Humanity active in Wallglass?"   
  
  
  
Blink. Blink. "What?" He had almost forgotten. Over the past couple of months, Dr. Trask had become as obsessed with anti-mutant activity as he'd been known to become fixated on the weirdest things: cane toads, obscure medieval composers, histories of warfare in remote Pacific islands. It made for interesting conversation at the dinner table.   
  
  
  
"I just wanted to know if you'd gotten involved in anything at your new school."   
  
  
  
Right, Larry thought. Why join the track team or the student council when I can waste some genetic freaks? "They've recruited a few" ( _weirdos _) "people."   
  
  
  
"Good, good. Is your sister awake?"   
  
  
  
"She's out." Trust Tanya to get invited to a party her first week of school. And trust the Mad Scientist not to go into the standard concerned-father spiel, who's she with, why isn't she back yet, why didn't anyone talk her out of it. "A friend's supposed to be bringing her home," he added for good measure, wondering what the reaction would be to his sister hanging out with upperclassmen. Maybe he should have been worried as well, but she had been spending weekend nights out since sixth grade, he had a weird sort of faith in her. She may have been fourteen and blonde-by-choice and bouncy and boy-crazy, but she was a lot smarter than she looked. Besides, he knew exactly how far the protective-older-brother routine would get him.   
  
  
  
"Good. I'm trusting you with her, Lawrence."   
  
  
  
"She'd love to hear that." Before his dad could initiate closure, Larry blurted out, "How's the project that none of us are supposed to know about going?" He tried his best not to sound bitter.   
  
  
  
"It's progressing," Dr. Trask said evasively.   
  
  
  
Larry was coming considerably close to snapping. "When are we going to find out exactly what the —" He caught himself. "What it is?"   
  
  
  
"Soon enough."   
  
  
  
"How soon is soon enough? I need to know you're not I don't know trying to blow up the world or anything like that."   
  
  
  
Laughter on the other end of the line. "It's nothing like that. I promise. I'm going to let you get some sleep now. Have your sister call me tomorrow."   
  
  
  
The subject was closed; he could sense that much. "Okay. Good night." He heard his father echo it, then hung up the phone and returned to bed, more frustrated and confused than ever.   
  
  
  
**   
  
  
  
"I did have a really great time," Phoebe said softly as they stood in front of her house.   
  
  
  
"Me, too."   
  
  
  
"Thank you." They sort of stood there for a moment, facing each other.   
  
  
  
"So what happens now?" Stephen asked. "I'm supposed to kiss you, right?"   
  
  
  
"I guess," Phoebe replied, but before he could make any move to do so, she held up a hand. "Wait. Do you think this is a good idea?"   
  
  
  
"Do I think what's a good idea?"   
  
  
  
"Us. You. Me. Together."   
  
  
  
"Why would it be a bad idea? I like you." He didn't trust himself to say a stronger word, no matter how understood it might have been between the two of them. "So much. I always have. Is it the _he's-a-boy-and-he's-a-friend _weirdness?"   
  
  
  
She smiled. "We're not just friends anymore. We're not _just _anything."   
  
  
  
"But it would still be weird, is that what you're saying?"   
  
  
  
"Kind of," she said. When the two of us are together, I have so much fun. In case nobody's ever told you, you're sweet and charming and wonderful, and I can't think of anyone else I'd rather be with than you."   
  
  
  
"But" he prompted.   
  
  
  
"I guess I just can't get the image out of my head of me as the girl that the bad guys tie to a chair while they make their nefarious plans.  
  
  
  
But that involves other people. Forget them for a second. Pretend it doesn't matter what they think. Look, I don't want you to be the girl in the chair either. But that's not going to happen unless we let it." He stared at her for a second. "Did you just say the word 'nefarious'?"   
  
  
  
She laughed. The sound was wonderful.   
  
  
  
_You left de X-Men to be wit' some human girl or at least you t'ink dat's why you left.   
  
_   
  
He pushed away the memory of Gambit's voice. "See how easy it is when we just ignore the angst?"   
  
  
  
"I think about it too much and I can't help the angst."   
  
  
  
"So stop thinking about it," he suggested, and, amazingly, she didn't cringe when she heard him say that.   
  
  
  
_Or maybe just so afraid of how powerful it would make you feel, t'inking you could make Gambit hop on one foot, or t'row m'self out dat window, or forget why I even come here.   
  
_   
  
_Shut up _, he commanded the mental voices.   
  
  
  
"I'll do my best," she assured him. "I just don't want to lose you again." The words could have come out sitcom-corny, but coupled with the way she was jumping up and down in the frigid cold, they sounded almost agonizingly honest. She could see her own breath, and he could see how lovely her face looked, bleached white in the glow of the outside lamp.   
  
  
  
Xavier had once told him that the world held few surprises for telepaths. Whether or not that had been a joke, Stephen knew now that it was a lie. Psychic powers didn't guarantee a person instant insight, it didn't mean a person knew everything about people or had all the answers, and it definitely didn't mean he had any idea what was coming next.   
  
  
  
This was right where he wanted to be. So what was the problem?   
  
  
  
He held Phoebe as tightly as he could, but he didn't answer her.   
  



	9. Out of the Frying Pan

Chapter 8: Out of the Frying Pan

"...so he said to me, 'You know, Kylie, you're really pretty, and I really like you as a friend, but I'm not really in that kind of place right now.' So I say okay, and then who do I see him with at Dunkin' Donuts? Guess!" The girl with the bleach-blond hair and the T-shirt that declared her 95% Angel leaned forward until her nose was almost touching that of her friend, who was also blond but at least had the sense to dress in clothes that wouldn't blind passersby. 

"Who?" 

"Debbie... Olinger! I mean, can you believe it, Tanya? And they were drinking -- guess what?"

"What?"

"A vanilla coolata -- which _I_ told him was her favorite! One coolata -- two straws!"

Angelina was careful not to look their way as she continued brushing her hair at the bathroom mirror. She'd had to race to catch the bus this morning and had given absolutely no thought to what it looked like, and the fierce winds made everything worse. Senior or not, they would undoubtedly think she was eavesdropping. Had she been this shallow when she was in ninth grade? Probably, but it was kind of hard to imagine.

"Boys are weird," Tanya said wisely. "They get hung up on girls without even knowing the first thing about them. I mean, my brother hasn't even been going to this school two weeks and he's already totally crazy on this punk chick in his civics class."

_This punk chick?_ was Angelina's first thought. Okay, so her hair and her piercings might be a shade less than conservative, but calling her a punk was bit of a stretch.

Her second thought was, _He's crazy on me? No way._

Her third thought was, _Civics class. The field trip to the city. Omigod!_ And without even checking in the mirror, she grabbed her bag and raced out the door.

"No running in the halls!" someone yelled. Angelina didn't even slow down until she got outside. The bus hadn't left, thank the Goddess. Larry, who was sitting by himself, glanced at her hair and suppressed a grin. At her Death Look, he quickly informed her that he'd saved her a seat.

"Thanks."

"So, do you know what this debate's about?" he asked as the bus started moving.

"Mutant rights."

"I know that. Who's going to be talking."

"Dunno."

"Out of curiosity" -- he didn't look at her, like he might be scared of the answer -- "what do you think of the mutant situation?"

"How long does it usually take you to ask that question?"

"Could you answer it?" he persisted.

"Sure. It's hard to say. From what I've heard, they could wipe us all out if they wanted to, but the thing is, not too many of them seem to want to."

"Do you know any?"

"Yeah," she said. What was the harm in it?

"Cool."

"I guess." In that speech she had made last fall, Phoebe had confessed that she'd let a particular mutant intimidate and manipulate her, but hadn't said who that was. Angelina had always sort of assumed she'd been talking about Stephen, but for all her idealism, Phoebe was never one to easily forgive, much less consider a relationship with, someone who had hurt her as badly as she seemed to have been hurt over the course of last year. Could there be other things she wasn't telling? Angelina felt a possessive resentment at that thought that she tried to viciously deny. The two of them had always shared everything. Steering the conversation back into relatively safer waters, she said, "It's not like they deserve to die just for existing, no." 

"Apparently, I'm supposed to join the FOH Youth scene while I'm living here."

"Are you going to?"

"Haven't decided yet. Um, Angela?"

She wondered if he knew how many points he'd just lost. "Angelina," she corrected him with probably more restrained fury than he deserved for one little slip.

"Right. Thanks for sitting with me."

"No problem. Let's see if we can still do it once we get there."

**

They could, but once they took their seats in an auditorium maybe three times the size of the one at school, there wasn't much more time for talking. A man who looked very much like a walrus directed everybody's attention to the two people on stage. Both of them also looked familiar in a very different sort of way. "Good afternoon, everyone. Welcome to this debate on equal rights for mutants, pitting Professor Charles Xavier against Graydon Creed."


	10. Seeing is Believing

Chapter 9: Seeing Is Believing

"I would like to add my welcome to his," Xavier was saying. "I don't intend to alarm anyone by some of the things I'm about to say. I merely wish to tell the truth, something I believe we've seen precious little of. The first truth is that more people are being revealed as mutants every day. Some lucky few can hide what they are, but others are not so fortunate. As if adolescence weren't already difficult, they have to deal with wild, uncontrolled talents that often result in their own fear, not to mention the fears of others."

This was nothing Angelina didn't already know. But even though she had never heard this guy speak before, she was impressed. He'd said something like this at the big town meeting last fall, and then as well as now, he'd seemed to be holding the audience's attention pretty well for an old weirdo looking for trouble.

"Suspicion of anything that is different is nothing new to us. Centuries ago, as some of you might recall, those suspected of being witches were burned at the stake due to lack of logical thought. It was forgotten that these so-called witches were neighbors, friends, who had never done a single thing to harm the agitators. During the Second World War, thousands of innocent civilians were mercilessly slaughtered because of a master-race philosophy, because of a single man who believed that _his_ people were the only ones who could survive. 

"Up until less than half a century ago, people were deemed first unfit to be anything but slaves, then as second-class citizens, on account of their skin color. 'Separate but equal treatment' was the ruling, but how equal could their treatment be when they were spit on and degraded?"

_How indeed?_ Angelina thought. He had better have a point.

"The need to prosecute those who are different is deeply ingrained into our way of thinking. Now, as if matters of race, religion, or sexual preference weren't enough, we are facing the 'intrusion' of a new race with abilities that frighten us. But what frightens us more, I believe, is the fact that we don't know what will happen next. And that stems from your beliefs that mutant powers make people less than human, or fill them with a desire to use those powers for evil."

"Well, that's true in some cases," Larry hissed.

"Huh?" But he didn't answer.

"We must not repeat history. If you remember only one thing from what you heard here today, remember that every time the majority has prosecuted those who are different, the result has been death, hysteria, and scars that have yet to heal. Do you want that to happen again? 

"Those you hate live and work beside you each day, whether you know it or not. At the moment, they are too afraid of being treated with the respect they deserve, to come forward. It is a sad day indeed when the only way we can be judged justly is if we hide our true natures. If your children came home from school one day with the news that they could warp metal or predict the future, would you see them any differently? Would you believe, all of a sudden, that they were no longer human? If the answer is yes, than it would be you, not them, who has made such a drastic change in such a short time.

"A young lady who has... shared her thoughts on the mutant phenomenon offered up yet another truth: it is our choice whether we accept mutants or turn them away. It is impossible to fear the unknown when it is no longer the unknown. Mutants must be granted the same rights as the rest of us. The right to equal treatment in schools and the workplace. The right to use whatever powers they have without fear. The right to mix with ordinary humans, to be made welcome, to be judged for who they are as opposed to what they are. The right to the same love and tolerance they received before they were exposed... or chose to expose themselves..."

Angelina had stopped listening. Had he been talking about Phoebe just then? 

"What was with how he kept saying 'we?'" Larry hissed.

"What?"

"When he was talking about mutants," he elaborated. "He kept saying 'we.'"

"He was speaking figuratively, duh. He meant we as humans."

"I'm not so sure. He seems to know a lot about what mutants seem to want."

"You don't think..."

"Yeah, I do think."

"Listen." She was losing patience. "When I was in ninth grade, someone started a rumor that my friend Trish was eyeing other girls in the locker room. She swore it wasn't true, but there was a whole crowd of 'witnesses.'"

"Shhh!" someone behind them admonished.

Larry ignored them, another point in his favor. "Did you believe her?"

"Yuh-huh."

"What happened?"

"Notes about 'that lesbo Angelina' started popping up on the bathroom mirrors. Stuff about Trish and me, you know..." She realized that she was blushing. "Now my sister's going through sort of the same thing, just because she's not joining the throng. But I live with her. I'd know if she was a mutant. I'm not gonna base any assumptions on what people think. Just because this Xavier guy's taking up for the underdogs doesn't mean he's one himself. He might just be really cool."

"So you like what he's saying?" Larry asked skeptically.

"You gotta admit, he's making a lot of sense." He was looking at her oddly. "Oh, great, now you think I'm one, too, don't you?" She said this part a little too loud, and was shushed from all directions this time. "Oh, shush yourself!" She would have liked to replace the second word with something a bit stronger, but knew that it sort of was her own fault. Damn.

By now, the other guy had started to speak. "Good morning," he said smoothly, flashing a toothy smile. "Now that you've heard what my opponent has to say, I humbly beg your equal attention."

That was a laugh. People had started out enraptured by Xavier's speech, but he'd clearly struck a nerve when he got into how people might already be living alongside mutants and didn't know it. It actually gave Angelina herself the shivers.

"He was right about one thing: mutants are living and working among us, and they are hiding. They would have you believe that it is because of their own fear, but do we really know that for sure? After all, we cannot see inside their heads like some of them can see into ours. How do you know that they have hidden their identity from us for years simply because they didn't think we deserved to know the truth?"

Now people had started muttering amongst themselves. She had an insane urge to hush them all. Loudly.

"Sometimes a few eggs have to be broken in order to make an omelet, as they say. And sometimes, sacrifices have to be made before the it is determined who is really fit to rule this earth. Consider this: we give mutants the right to use their 'powers' in public. Isn't that the same as telling them that it is all right to use them against us? To destroy our homes, breach our highest securities, invade our privacy as they invade our minds?

"They would have you believe that this is a natural process, the result of evolution. What has happened during _every_ evolutionary step forward so far?"

"The last race has died out!" someone shouted.

"Correct!" Creed boomed. "They could do nothing about it -- their races weren't yet advanced enough! But we can. Mutants will be drawn to their own kind. They will reproduce. And they will multiply, and soon overrun us. They will have the means _and_ the numbers!"

"This is a civilized debate," Xavier said, looking like he was barely containing his anger. "Not one of your Friends of Humanity rallies. You have made your feelings quite clear. What about facts?"

"Facts, _Professor_?" Creed said scornfully. "Last year, there was a rash of bank and museum robberies. Footage captured on security cameras reveals that young people exhibiting strange abilities were responsible. On the other side of the fence, mutants have also been known to take the law into their own hands. Does anyone remember New York City's Avenging Angel, or the short-lived Bayville Sirens? They were mutants who believed they had the right to solve humanity's problems for us."

"Can you believe this?" Angelina said under her breath.

"At least he's talking about what actually happened instead of acting like some hyped-up TV preacher."

A suppressed giggle became a snort. Things were starting to heat up, and she was glad she was here. Glad she had someone to talk to. And even a little proud that the old guy had quoted her sister. She could hardly wait to tell Phoebe all about it.

A/N: For those of you who read the first version and are all, "Hey, Magneto, there's your cue!" don't worry, he'll still be involved somehow. I know that he deserves the same respect that I'm giving the other characters… even Xavier. But in Evo, he's such a… well, such a cartoon, that I've never been able to portray him convincingly. He's one of the most complex characters in X-Men history, and the Kids WB people went and did this to him. So terribly sad.


	11. The Storm Breaks

Chapter 10: The Storm Breaks

_January 11_

_Last of college essays DONE! Glory Glory Hallelujah and all that other stuff! Stephen called to congratulate me while I was eating a celebratory bowl of ice cream. I said he must be psychic. He was quiet for a long minute, then said, "I was just sticking my tongue out at you. But, um, you couldn't see me. So I'm telling you." _

_January 12_

_I'm planning to be some kind of big singing star someday, so you wouldn't think I'd look forward to a job where I get to hide in the stacks all day. Same reason why I love to dress up to go to parties and stuff, but it's always a total relief to put on my oldest, grungiest pair of jeans. Or I can hold my own in a mind battle, but then I drive off somewhere and cry._

_Anyway, I could think of a lot of jobs worse than working at the library, but it's Tuesday story hour that really gets to me. Don't get me wrong, I think the little kids are really sweet, once you get past their demands for books that I don't even think exist, and the fact that this one little girl who asks questions nonstop. Not to mention having to tell them for the tenth time to please settle down and listen to the story, and words like "stupid-head" are not allowed. But what happened today was somehow worse than all the sticky hands on the books, irrelevant questions in the middle of the latest adventures of Frog and Toad or Willy Wonka (when we're reading chapter books, I give a recap for the kids who are just coming in for the first time), and that time when Megan insisted on pulling up her skirt. As I was opening the book, I saw Benjamin whisper something to Tyler, who promptly burst into tears._

_"What is it?" I asked._

_Tyler: "Benjamin said something mean!"_

_Me: "What was it?"_

_Tyler: "He called me a stupid mutie!"_

_Breathe in. Breathe out. "Benjamin, why did you say that to Tyler?"_

_Benjamin: "Because mutants are mean and stupid and ugly. Just like him!"_

_Tyler stuck his tongue out and commenced a fresh round of bawling. "I am not mean and stupid and ugly. Phoebe, tell Ben he has to leave!"_

_Me: "Nobody's leaving. I'm going to ask you if you understand something, and then you're both going to sit down and listen to the story. Are you ready?" Two sulky nods. "Okay. From now on, 'mutie' is against the rules, just like 'poo-face' and 'stupid-head.' It's not a bad thing to be, like those other things, because they're not all mean and stupid and ugly, any more than all people with curly hair are. If anyone else uses it as an insult, I'm talking to your parents. Do you understand?"_

_More sulky nods. Another crisis diverted._

_God help us all._

_**_

_January 13_

_Angelina and I were flipping channels after dinner, when somehow we landed on the news. Jaycee Jones, her least favorite anchorwoman, was smiling her big lipsticky grins at us, and Angel was like, "Change it." But I didn't._

_Jaycee: "The race wars came to a head today as Friends of Humanity leader Graydon Creed was attacked by a pair of unidentified mutants while leaving the site of a debate with his counterpoint activist Charles Xavier._

_Angel: "I was there!"_

_"There… while he was being attacked?" I gasped._

_Angel: "No, there at the debate."_

_Me: "He was debating Xavier?"_

_Angel: "And winning. By a lot. Even though I think the other guy knew a lot more about what he was saying."_

_Me: "Figures."_

_Angel: "Who do you think attacked him?"_

_Me: "I don't know."_

_Angel (grinning evilly): "Maybe Stephen does."_

_Me: "Angelina!"_

_Angel: "What?"_

_Me: "He didn't hang out with people who would do something like that."_

_Angel: "How do you know?"_

_The truth is, I don't. It's not like I ever spent any _time_ with his friends. But the last thing I felt like doing was getting into a guilt-by-association argument with my sister. "The… I mean, his friends aren't the only mutants around," I say, knowing how close I'd come to saying "the X-Men." Pretty clear that it wouldn't be a good idea to tell anyone about that part of it, even though I feel guilty sometimes, keeping secrets from her. It took enough telling her about him in the first place._

_Now I'm going to feel all tense and weird until I ask him about this._

_Meanwhile Jaycee's still blabbering on, and then she turns the mike over to Graydon Creed and lets him blabber some. Of course I've seen him before, but now more than ever, I wish I was there so I can bash his stupid face in._

He says that two freaky guys (not his words, but close enough) cornered him just as he was about to go out the back door. One of them looked like a giant metal robot, the other made the surveillance camera explode just by touching it. Funny how just a year ago, people would have laughed at that, said he should be put away. Funny. I'm laughing my ass off over here.

_I don't know why the sarcasm. All I know is this can't be good. This really, really can't be good._


	12. With Friends Like These

Chapter 11: With Friends Like These

"Everyone!" Randolph Flaherty, whom Graydon had named branch leader, raised his hand for silence. "This meeting will now officially, and with _no arguments_, come to order. I have good news."

"And..." Delia prompted suspiciously.

"And, that's it. I have good news. Why?"

"Because the last few times you've said that, it's been followed by 'and bad news.'"

"There's no catch. We've got practically the entire student body of Wallglass High School on our side, and Graydon's been making the most of his news spots. As far as the general public is concerned, he's the unlikely hero who defended himself against mutant terrorism. They loved that part where he headed them off with a fire extinguisher. Even though I still think Ed could have benefited by sharing your long-standing suspicions about some of the students at his school, things are going… rather well."

"It's not like he knows for sure," Delia spoke up.

"The _Inside Edge_ doesn't know _for sure_ that Ross Perot is really Batman," Harold reminded her. 

_We founding members are the original motley bunch,_ she thought. _We've got the dauntless leader (Randolph), the bumbling sidekick (Harold), and the babe (moi). I'm even a reporter, for God's sake, the number-one cause of innocent-bystander-hood in women. Even though I doubt too many female sidekicks have my type of audience, or caring for a daughter constantly on the edge due to conflicting sets of memories. Which is the reason I joined up in the first place: Alisa. Another member of the Mindwipe Survival Society, just like poor Kelly._

"She's right!" came from Tara Graham. "I have kids, and I'd like to know if they were going to school with freaks."

"So would I!" Marcus shouted. "Jeff thinks that a weirdo in his class is one of them. Fits all the criteria -- hangs with other oddballs, doesn't join groups, and he disappeared for almost a year and then came back, no questions asked. But he doesn't want to go pointing fingers, neither."

"Ben came home from story hour and told Nancy and me about, quote, a librarian lady who thinks muties are just like everybody else, unquote," a man in a backmost seat spoke up. "I say it's the freak-lovers who are the real menace. We gotta get rid of them first. Then the freaks'emselves would know that there's nothing for them out there!"

"Everyone!" Randolph repeated. "We start going after people who support the freaks and everybody out there will start labelling us a hate group. They're not the ones who are trying to replace us. We have to concentrate on the real threat."

"But how?" Delia wondered. "There are more and more of them every day."

Randolph delivered a smug grin. "Glad you asked, Delia..."

_Three, two, one,_ she thought.

"...glad you asked. Graydon has informed me of a connection he's made in Washington -- a weapons designer who has a prototype for a robot that tracks and destroys mutants."

"Sounds a little bit out there to me," said Marcus. "You sure this..." He paused.

"Bolivar Trask," Randolph supplied.

"You sure this Trask guy is playing with a full deck?"

"I'm not positive, no. But he is giving us a lead. And the Lord knows we are in desperate need of those."

They continued shifting between old and new business, and Delia's spirits began to mount again. Even if these, what-did-they-call-them, Sentinels turned out to be just tin cans and hot air, they had a lot to fall back on. Whatever Ed chose to reveal to the public would prove useful, not to mention his now-popular idea of mutant registration, which she'd joked could possibly launch him into a career in politics. Most importantly, there were enough of them so that soon, the mutants would know that they couldn't hide anymore.

By the time the meeting drew to a close, she had fully convinced herself.

"Who are we?" Randolph thundered.

Delia joined in the cry of, "The Friends of Humanity!"

"What are we trying to do?"

"Reclaim our world!"

"And who are we trying to take down?"

"All mutants!" _Trying if not succeeding. Soon. Very soon._

**

"Okay," Jeff announced over dubious cafeteria hot dogs. "Flaherty says our job is to weed out any muties who might be hanging out with us. So, anyone have anything to report?"

"You never said anything about that," Jasmine protested.

"I thought it was obvious. But I guess a few lowlifes here don't really get what we're trying to do." He frowned suddenly, as if something had just occurred to him. "You know something, dont'cha?"

She stared at her feet and shook her head.

"Do I need to say it again?" Jeff tapped his plastic fork rhythmically on the table. "We are the human race's eyes... and... ears. We gotta go through the possibilities again and again. Pick out the bad seeds."

"But what if we're wrong?" someone else asked.

"Then we have a reason to be wrong, like someone's giving us a reason to think they're a freak. And if they're dumb enough to do that, they deserve to get pounded. Like Caleb Parks who went around with those shades on for a week, even when it was cloudy."

"He had allergies," Pat contributed.

"Whatever. But you talked him straight, didn't you?"

"I did," Kevin contributed, feeling strangely like he should be adding, "sir." He turned to his girlfriend. "Jazz, are you sure you don't know anything? Anyone acting strange? Or trying to act too normal?"

"No," she repeated firmly.

"Did you promise someone that you wouldn't tell?"

"We're at war here," Cindy said sharply before Jasmine could answer. "Whatever promise you made to a mutie is no good. You should know that. If have any freak-friends, you should probably get up and leave."

"I didn't promise any mutants anything," Jasmine assured them, truthfully enough. Although she was beginning to have her suspicions about someone who had once been her closest friend, she wasn't yet at the point where she was going to incriminate that someone without proof. True, Phoebe had suddenly severed all ties with her and Reese, and she refused to join the FOH no matter how interested in fitting in she was, and she had been spending a lot of time alone with Stephen. But that didn't necessarily mean that Phoebe was one herself. Did it?

_I hope the answer is no,_ she thought. _Because then I'll have to tell everyone._ _And I'm not at the point where I would do that to her, no matter how wrong I think she is._


	13. Invisible

Chapter 12: Invisible

"I'd certainly like to meet this new boyfriend of yours," Charity remarked, meticulously measuring out sugar for her tea. She wasn't sure, but she thought it had been a long time since she had invited Joanne over just to talk. She'd missed it more than she cared to admit to anyone, even Darren. Their lives had been so hectic in the past year… but it looked like things were improving now. She would keep her fingers crossed. "What's his name? Lloyd, Lester…"

"Leon," Joanne supplied, blushing almost the same color as her hair. "Leon Gillis. He owns the music store in the mall."  
  


"Surely he isn't the one who always wears that open shirt?" Charity tried not to sound too skeptical.

Joanne didn't notice. "Yes. He's very nice. Very… extroverted. Andrew seems like such a stuffed shirt compared to him." She changed the subject. "So, I hear Stephen started work today."

Charity nodded. "At the Nebula Vista station."

"Does he like it?"

"Well, I don't know that. He doesn't talk much."

Joanne frowned. "Really," she said. "That's quite a change. What do you suppose could have caused it?"

"End-of-high-school pressures, and all that." Charity forced a grin. The very most important thing of all was to pretend that the screaming fights and the long silences and her best friend's close-to-angry demands of _Why didn't you tell me?_ hadn't happened. They'd gotten another chance when he'd come home, and they were damn well going to take it. "He and Phoebe are applying to some of the same colleges."

Joanne's head came up like a dog that had caught a familiar scent. "Really?"

"You didn't know how close they've gotten?"

"Well… they've always been close… and I knew they went out on that one date…"

"And he's been spending an awful lot of time at the library lately." Charity smiled again, didn't even need to fake it this time. She personally thought that Stephen striking up a romance with a girl he'd spent most of his time with for the past six years — a sweet, lovely, _normal_ girl — was one of the best things that could have happened.

"_Really_," Joanne said again, and Charity took a sudden, visceral offense. One didn't have to be psychic to discern the meaning of that one word. "I've been working a lot of extra shifts at the restaurant, taking cooking classes so I can maybe move on to something better, and so I wish I could spend more time with my girls, see what they're up to. It's something I've always regretted not being able to do." At the other woman's silence, "Oh! Oh, no, I wasn't thinking that there's anything wrong with the two of them spending time together. It's very sweet. I just wish —"

"That you could have heard it from her instead of from me?"

"Yes," Joanne said, looking relieved. "That's it exactly."

**

To: stevie_wonder@hotmail.com

From: fuzzy_elf@xnet.edu

Subject: why us?

_Mein freund —_

_Xavier says that the FOH leader may have been wrong about a lot of things, but he still didn't deserve to be attacked by those two — their names are Gambit and Colossus, by the way, and nobody knows who they work for — Magneto or Mystique or just on their own. He feels guilty about not doing anything to stop it — he and Storm were right there at the time._

_Now Creed is this big hero, everyone's on the lookout for those two, and — get this — we think Kelly knew the truth all along but wasn't going to make waves. He's keeping the whole thing quiet at school, danke for small favors. Very fishy, though._

_Must go now. I'm meeting Amanda for slushies and to talk. She's taking it OK. Her dad's another story, though. How are you holding up?_

_— Kurt_

**

Stephen's new job, such as it was, consisted mostly of getting Ms. Lyman coffee, carting props on and off the set, and a whole lot of sweeping. Still, he didn't mind. It wasn't work that required a whole lot of thinking, and Darren spent so much time holed up in his own office that the two of them didn't see enough of each other for it to be awkward. And if not a single other person in the whole place remembered his name, so much the better.

Being invisible had never been something he actually thought he'd enjoy.

But things had changed.

And now this had happened.

_Stop thinking about it! It's not anything to do with you!_

If he got upset whenever anything to do with mutants happened anywhere, he would be so busy worrying he wouldn't have time to sleep. He had more important things to worry about, like homework… or filtering out the mammoth amount of gossip he seemed to pick up just by hanging around so many people in the TV business. Plenty of other things.

So why, when he heard the description of the two mutants at the debate, did he feel like there was something he could have done?

_There was _nothing_. Gambit told you himself that nobody could get inside his head, and you can't see the future, so there is no way you could have known what they were planning. And why would you want to protect Graydon Creed? If he had his way, people like you would buried up to your necks in the sand and stoned to death._

He considered writing back to Kurt and telling him about Gambit's surprise visit, but he couldn't trust his blue-furred friend not to run to Xavier.

_Would that really be so bad?_ an alien voice spoke up inside him. _I mean, he probably knows a lot more about what's going on here than you do._

_I left so I wouldn't have to think like that anymore!_

But that wasn't even true. He had come home so he could be with Phoebe… right?

_Or at least you t'ink dat's why you left._

"Stop it," he said aloud. "Damn it, _stop_!"

_Talking to myself? Great, just great. You know what? This is ridiculous. I don't have a place there anymore, if I ever did. I have a place _here_. School, family, girlfriend, all the normal things that I would have had if things had turned out differently. I _can't_ fall apart at every mutant-related crisis that comes up, and I _can't_ start wondering useless things like why I left. I have other things to think about._

When he next got a chance, he turned on the computer to delete Kurt's message. At the last moment, though, he changed his mind and stowed it in an empty folder.


	14. Wherefore Art Thou

Chapter 13: Wherefore Art Thou

_January 15_

Today I have decided that the whole world is against me in general, and specifically against something I'm still not sure whether I want in the first place. And by "the whole world" I mean my mother. Which she demonstrated splendidly to me today while I was trying to make a peanut-butter-banana sandwich.

_Joanne: "I have to ask: what's going on between you and Stephen?"_

_I have to ask: why is it her business? "We really like each other," says I._

_Joanne: "Is that it?"_

_"Maybe not," I said. "Why?"_

_Joanne: "Don't get me wrong. I think he's a very nice boy. And you've been friends for years. I remember when the two of you build that fort in the woods out of dead branches. You used to spend hours down there."_

_Me: "Yeah, I remember."_

_ Joanne: "It's always been kind of a fantasy of mine that the two of you would end up together."_

_Me (not wanting to think about Mom's fantasies, now or ever): "And?"_

_Joanne: "Ordinarily, I would have been so happy that you chose him over that Reese character. He was very off-putting, you know."_

_Me: "I know. So why aren't you?"_

_Joanne: "I think you know perfectly well why."_

_Looking back, I guess I should have. Maybe I just didn't want to admit it to myself. So I played dumb, telling her that I really didn't have any idea. I was bracing myself for the be-careful-he's-only-after-one-thing speech which I'd heard my friends complain about their fathers giving them. Since my parents split up roughly around the time that I still believed boys had cooties, Dad never got a chance to give it to me. Joanne took it into her own hands when I reached "dating age."_

_She asked me if I'd given any thought to his (dot dot dot) situation, and that's when I got mad, because I knew that it was a Charity expression. If only either of them knew how much thought I'd given it._

_Me: "Of course."_

_ Joanne: "And does it matter to you?"_

_Me: "It's not like it's his fault."_

_ Joanne: "I know that. But there's been a lot of talk about (dot dot dot) people like him being forced to expose what they are, and they've been getting a lot of bad press, and I'm just afraid that you'll be facing more unnecessary ridicule."_

_Me: "I'll risk it. We don't even know if anything like that's going to happen."_

_Joanne: "And even if it doesn't...You and Angelina may not realize it, but I am very, very good at knowing when one of you is upset. Honey, when he went away, it destroyed you. He hurt you very badly, and I don't want to see it happen again."_

_Me: "It won't. That's not his fault either."_

_Joanne: "I thought you said you weren't sure how you felt about him."_

_Me: "I'm not. I mean..."_

_Joanne: "This isn't easy for me to say. Don't think that it is. But I know how he feels about you. I also know that his... talent goes a bit beyond reading other people's thoughts."_

_The peanut-butter-laden knife clanged to the floor just then. This time, I did know what she was going to say. And there was nothing I could do about it except run out of the room, something that I'd already resolved not to do._

_Joanne: "He could be influencing whatever feelings for him you might be having."_

_ Me: "That's insane."_

_ She said that maybe it was, but I had to consider the possibility. As if she was an authority on this kind of thing. As if she knew anything about the situation except for what Charity had delivered through the phone line as if she were filling my mother in on the latest episode of a soap opera. As if she didn't know that I knew why she was saying this. She just didn't want her "good" daughter getting mixed up with one of those freaks._

_As if she thought that what she had suggested had never occurred to me before._

_But it's not true. It. Is. Not. True! If it was, would I be this confused? And would he ever do something like that? Okay, maybe he did sit by when someone else tried to change someone's mind. But he would never do it himself. Ever._

**

Angelina, at least, was more sympathetic. Sometimes, Phoebe could barely figure her sister out. At school, Angelina dressed and acted like the punk/Goths who sat on the heater between classes and smoked in the bathroom (although she had long since given up her aspiration to be just like them). She hung out with Haley, the school witch (most everyone assumed they were a couple or part of the same coven or both), crashed parties on weekends, and sneered at the school's care and feeding of athletes. All her disciples on the school newspaper were a little afraid of her.

At home, on the other hand… well, she was still unpredictable, but it was — usually — a more essentially beneficial kind of unpredictability that Phoebe came to appreciate in the midst of the chaos.

"Look what I got," Angelina said proudly, standing in the center of the room and dangling the latest issue of _Seventeen_ by one corner. She sighed as Phoebe promptly leapt up and threw herself behind the bed. "What?"

"I'll do whatever you want, just let my sister go!"

"Very funny." She held it out. "Page thirty-seven."

She watched as Phoebe gingerly took the magazine and flipped ahead, then back. The article was titled, "Your Mutant Match: Tips For Dating a Genetic Accident." She handed it back. "This looks more like a _Weekly World News_ headline."

"It's totally for real."

"We're going to be just fine."

"You probably are. If this doesn't help, it might be good for a laugh. Okay, 'Warning Signs.'"

"Those don't exaclty apply," Phoebe pointed out.

"I know. 'He wears hat or gloves all the time.' That's one."

"That describes, like, half the guys in our school."

"'He's unusually sensitive to any mutant killings he sees.' Or, how about this one. 'He won't answer any personal questions and is always encouraging you to talk about yourself.' Isn't this awful?"

"Horrendous."

"'Don't act like it makes a difference, but be sure to let him know that you accept it.'"

"At the same time?" Phoebe said skeptically.

"Apparently." Angelina scanned the page and smirked. "Okay, here's one. 'How Will It Change How Far You Go?'"

Phoebe snatched the magazine away. "Give me that!"

"Touched a nerve, did I?"

"I still haven't stopped feeling like I'm kissing a relative. I can't imagine what..." She shuddered.

"I don't know. He's a telepath. It might be... interesting. Oooh, here's one you should look at."

"I don't want to hear any more!"

"No, no. It's about how to get your family to accept it. The important thing, it says, is not to lose your cool if a parent makes some dumb remark."

"I didn't lose my cool."

Angelina raised her eyebrows. "Didn't you call her insane?"

"I didn't call _her_ insane. I called what she was _saying_ insane. And it is."

"I won't argue that. And you know neither of us have ever been able to figure out what her deal is. Maybe she just doesn't want you to be happy. And while it is kind of a relief to see someone else be the target of that _besides_ me…"

Phoebe rolled up the magazine and whacked at her with it.

**

January became February; the endless weeks of slush and sleet and bitterly cold winds gave way to days Phoebe swore were comparatively warmer. Yet the church basement where Friends of Humanity meetings were held remained as chilly as ever.

They had barely broached the subject of Old Business when a knock came at the door. "Enter and pay respects!" Randolph boomed.

Harold looked over at Delia and rolled his eyes.

"Ah, hi," said the girl who pushed open the door. "Is this the right room for the FOH meeting?"

"It is indeed," their fearless leader acknowledged. "Who is interested in knowing?"

The girl looked at him like he was a recent escapee from a mental hospital. "Me," she replied. "My name's Angelina Corlisle."


	15. In the Lion's Den

Chapter 14: In The Lion's Den

_The entire journalism class erupted in stimulated mutters when Mr. Caisson wrote "Undercover" in his looping handwriting across the blackboard. "Who can tell me what this means?" he asked them._

_Brian Wilson raised his hand. "It's when you drive around in a van with, like, _

_'Flowers for Sale' written on it. But you're really working for the FBI."_

_"It's when a cop dresses like a teenager to make a drug bust at a high school," someone else contributed._

_Mr. Caisson looked like he was resisting the urge to bury his face in his hands. Angelina felt sorry for him — besides being the faculty advisor for the school paper, he was also one of the few teachers she actually liked. She tried not to raise her hand too much — she didn't want to look like a nerd —but it was clear that her classmates were suffering from a surfeit of _Fastlane_ episodes. When the teacher called on her, she said, "It's when you immerse yourself in a group or an activity or something like that so you can get information, or maybe catch a person you're looking for, or something, without letting them know that that's what you're doing."_

_Mr. Caisson beamed, which he rarely did. "Right!" He turned and wrote some more on the board. By the time the class ended, he had given them an assignment: to observe the inner workings of a community business or group without revealing their purpose._

_"So, if we go to an AA meeting, do we pretend to be alcoholics?" Brian called. Even Angelina laughed. A few other kids imitated sloppily drunk people._

_"You can just say 'pass,'" Trish told him. "Lots of people do that."_

_"Yeah, how would you know that?"_

_"Everyone knows that."_

_"Yeah, everyone who goes to those meetings!"_

_Mr. Caisson looked defeated again. "A support group is a great place to start," he said. "Just try not to go to one in your own town, where people are familiar with you, and vice versa." _

_"Can we tape-record?" someone asked._

_"Good question. In most cases, no, but there might be certain exceptions. Depends on what you have in mind." He wrote another word on the board, _discretion_, which he underlined three times. Nobody asked what it meant. Nobody needed to._

_When the bell rang, Angelina waited until everyone had gone to his desk. "I'm planning something kind of controversial," she explained, "and I don't want to do all the work just so you can tell me it'll raise too many hackles."_

_The teacher looked at her with a mixture of excitement and suspicion on his face. "What is it?"_

_Angelina told him._

_He looked taken aback. "Oh. Oh, I see. Does this have anything to do with the piece that your sister wrote last fall?"_

_She shook her head. "Not really. It's just something I've become interested in." She hesitated before adding, "And I want it to be good."_

_"It'll be good no matter what you use." He saw her blush and changed the subject. "I don't have a problem with it, but please be careful." At her frown, "I don't know a whole lot about how the Friends of Humanity are run, but I've heard rumors. I don't want to hear on the news that the Eyewitness's most talented editor in five years has been, I don't know, kidnapped and tortured for espionage."_

_"You're kidding, right?"_

_"One can only hope." He pointed at the board. "Be discreet, and you should be fine."_

**

Now, Angelina sat on a freezing cold folding chair in a freezing cold room. When Randolph Flaherty asked why exactly she'd come, she'd replied, "General interest," and crossed her fingers. She didn't know what she'd expecting — hooded robes, a swearing-in ceremony, blood oaths — but she'd definitely been afraid this guy would say something like, _This isn't the Yacht Club, miss. People don't join out of general interest. Now, if you're not interested in roasting mutants' heads on spikes, get out._ All she got, though, was a wary glance and a "Fine, then." Some other people in the room — there were about eighteen or twenty of them — nodded in her direction, although some, like Jeff, looked awfully surprised to see her. But Delia Foxworth did smile at her before turning her gaze to the front of the room.

All in all, it was kind of disappointing.

"Jeff Price," Flaherty said grandly.

Jeff stood. Gone was the cocky conviction that all adults were pathetic idiots, replaced by something close to respect for Authority. He cast Angelina a derisive glare. "Yeah."

"Have you had any success in rooting out mutants who might be hiding in your school?"

"Nothing for sure," Jeff reported. "There was a kid a while back who looked pretty suspicious, but he turned out to be a false alarm."

"Caleb Parks?"

Jeff nodded. "We got his shades off, and his eyes looked normal enough. But we couldn't take any chances, sir."

Angelina remembered Caleb — a pudgy boy who always wore a hooded sweatshirt and had such bad allergies that he was forced to wear sunglasses to hide his bloodshot, puffy eyes. He'd been the victim of an ambush on the unfortunately soundproof stairwell during a lunch period just after school let back in. Everyone knew that, but she, for one, hadn't had the slightest clue of who'd been behind it or what it had been about. Now she clenched one fist inside her trench coat. This was getting ridiculous.

The good news was, a quick glance around the room revealed that quite a few people were taking notes. Trying not to look too conspicuous, Angelina removed her own notebook. Tempting as a tape recorder would have been, she had been secretly terrified of being caught. The Girl Who Liked To Live Dangerously was skittish when it came to matters of privacy and — her teacher's favorite word — discretion. Not so brave after all. _Shhh, don't tell anyone._

"True enough," the branch leader sighed. "I hope you're not jumping the gun on any of these suspicions."

"Just what are you trying to say?" A burly, crew-cut man in a lumberjack shirt rose to his feet alongside Jeff. _ Mr. Price, I presume._

"Nothing, Marcus," Flaherty assured him. "But if we start making accusations without proof, we're going to start looking like paranoid conspiracy theorists to John Q. Public."

Angelina made sure to note that he'd just used one of her least favorite expressions in the known universe, right up there with "chatting up." Her note wasn't exactly an objective sort of move, but she'd always thought referring to people as "John Q. Public," as if they were a single unit instead of separate individuals, indicated that the speaker was Pompous with a capital P.

"Do you think this is the time to be worrying about what they-all are going to think of us?" Mr. Price demanded. "Graydon said at the debate that — what was it, Jeffy?"

Angelina resisted the urge to clean out her ear with her pen. _ Jeffy?_

"You have to break some eggs to make an omelet, Dad," Jeff reminded him.

"Right. I didn't join up so I could suck up." 

"Especially to the mutie-lovers," someone else put in.

"Right. Because those are the only people who would have any kind of problem with what we're trying to do."

"Our name implies that we're supposed to be serving humanity," Ms. Foxworth spoke up. "The more radical we get, the less likely people are going to listen to us."

"Who cares if they listen to us?" Angelina recognized the speaker with a kind of shock — it was Jasmine's dad and Joanne's boss. "You don't stop a disease from spreading by trying not to _offend_ the people who have to deal with it!"

"The more convincing your methods are, the more likely that the person will let himself — or herself — be cured," Ms. Foxworth insisted. "But what we're trying to do here is treat the disease, not make it go away."

"_But_ if we wait, who's going to be left for us to save?" Jasmine's stepmother asked.

"Hilda's right!" shouted a woman in a very large hat.

"Are you saying they're going to try to wipe us all out?" Delia Foxworth sounded skeptical.

"If they're allowed to keep going, we might wipe _ourselves_ out. Whoever came up with that whole disease metaphor was totally right."

Mr. Shelley preened.

"I was at that debate, too," Kevin said. Angelina willed herself not to turn around. "He was saying that whenever something new and better came along, the last race died out, right? That totally freaked me out. That Xavier guy can talk all he wants about peaceful alternatives, but it doesn't change what's really going to happen."

"How does he think it's going to help, knowing that they're hiding among us?" Ms. Foxworth wondered. "If they want to be accepted so much, they _shouldn't_ hide, should they?"

"He tried to make us feel guilty, telling us that our kids might turn out to be mutants," another unfamiliar party recalled.

"Trying to put a scare into us, you mean!"

"I know Jazz and Elaine, and they aren't freaks. I can't believe anyone'd even suggest it!"

"My kids have never done anything to deserve that!"

"At least Graydon Creed tells it like it is."

The room began to buzz again, worse than ever. Flaherty banged his gavel for silence. "I've been in contact with our Sentinel-building benefactor in Washington," he told the group. "He says that the trial-and-error period is past, and he has definitely found a design he can work with."

There was a general murmur of excitement. "And he'll let us use the models if they turn out all right?"

"That was part of the deal."

"Robots that hunt and kill people?" Angelina was less surprised than she'd expected to realize that the skeptical voice had come from Delia Foxworth.

"Not _people_, Delia," said the dumpy, round-faced man in the seat next to her.

"Harold has a point," Flaherty said from the platform. "Dr. Trask is working especially hard to make sure that none of _us_ will be targets of the Sentinels."

Angelina's pen was moving swiftly over the pages of her notebook.

Her mind was moving even faster.

**

The air in the meeting room had rapidly warmed up from the presence of so many people, and when she finally got outside, Angelina was actually glad that she'd ridden her bike here instead of driving. She'd seriously underestimated the value of fresh air, and she leaned against the wall of the building for a second, inhaling deeply.

"I saw you taking notes," said someone.

She opened her eyes. "Yeah?" she said nervously.

"Lots of nerds who are thinking about joining for good write down their first impressions," Jeff went on. "I just never took you for a nerd."

"Maybe I'm just full of surprises," she suggested.

"I'll say. I mean, you hang out with that witch, and you don't look like you like rules much… I didn't think you'd do something like this."

"Yeah, I hang out with Haley. But she's still human, isn't she?"

He misunderstood. Maybe it was just as well. "Right, right. And muties aren't. Gotcha. So, you thinking of joining?"

"No idea," she lied.

"I kinda hope you do."

_That_ surprised her. "What?"

"I mean… yeah. Then maybe your freak-loving sister would start seeing that she wasn't as safe as she thought. We need to clue them in."

Angelina stared at him for a moment. Words, even the most creative of curses, failed her. "Clue _this_," she managed, and gave him the finger as she turned away. She could still feel his eyes on her back.

This was going to be one hell of an article. But first she had to take a shower. Even being in the same room with some of those people had made her feel like she'd been coated with slime.

And then, Larry Trask had quite a bit of explaining to do.


	16. Stranger Things

Chapter 15: Stranger Things

"Corlisle residence."

For some reason, even though he'd dialed this same number and asked this same question at least a thousand times, he was acutely nervous. "Hi, is Phoebe there?"

Pause. "She's at a voice lesson, Stephen," Joanne said, her voice strangely sharp. "I'll tell her you called."

_What'd I do?_ "Um, okay, thanks."

"Do you want me to leave a message?"

"That's okay."

"Nothing about the Valentine's dance?" Joanne asked slyly.

"Who's the mind-reader here, you or me?" He was answered by a long silence. _Undo it, undo it!_

"It's clear that Phoebe thinks this is as funny as you do," Joanne said, very icily. "I don't know how much the two of you have discussed the… circumstances, but I'll have you know that I _don't_ think it's funny. At all. I've tried to warn her of what she's getting herself into, but she hasn't listened."

"Sorry, but what are you talking about?"

"Charity and I have been talking, and we've both that your feelings for each other have moved slightly beyond friendship."

"And..." It wasn't like he couldn't sense where this was going, but sometimes, hearing was believing.

"And I couldn't be happier for both of you. Truly. But if I _ever_ find out that..." A pause.

"That…" She didn't answer.

Then, another voice in the background: "Mom, are you talking to Daddy?"

"No," he could hear Joanne say distantly. "It's for you, actually."

"Hang on," came Phoebe's voice over the line. "I'm taking it somewhere else." A minute later, "What's up?"

"What was that all about?" Stephen demanded.

"What was what... ohhhh." She exhaled as if she suddenly understood, sounding as calm as she possibly could, although her voice was shaking with barely restrained anger. "I'm sorry. I should have warned you."

"Why was she doing that? Why should she care how we handle the 'circumstances'? She's not in them!"

"She drives me so crazy sometimes."

"I was scared that my parents are the same way. In the beginning, they were all 'Do you really want to get an innocent girl involved in this mess?'"

"Innocent?" Phoebe repeated. "Me?"

"_They_ think so. Why is it such a big deal? Did Joanne go bahooties when you started going out with Reese?"

"No, she told me how she felt about him later." Quickly, she added, "I get what you mean, though. I mean, it's not like she's a racist or anything -- she didn't even blink when Angelina and Haley became friends. But this is different, I guess."

"How is it different?"

"Not in a good way."

"Yeah, I sort of got that."

"It shouldn't be different at all. But, yeah, it is."

"Um, Phoebe?" _I've battled virtual-reality monsters, stood up to Xavier, and survived Dad's disco phase._ _This should be a piece of cake._ "If you have any doubts about us..."

"Yeah?"

"…could you save them for after the dance?"

Another long pause. Maybe it was hereditary. "Are you asking me to go with you?"

"If you want to, I mean."

"You know I don't like dancing."

"It'll be fun," he wheedled, wishing that they were actually in the same room so he could attempt the sad puppy face. "You remember fun, right?"

"I don't know."

"Well, then, this will be the perfect reminder."

"Shut up, I'm thinking." After what seemed like hours, she sighed. "You're going to keep at this until I say yes, right?" He could almost-but-not-quite hear what she _wasn't_ saying, and knew that it wasn't anything good.

"Pretty much."

"Okay, then."

"Great!" Stephen said enthusiastically. "It _will_ be fun. I promise."

**

_February 8_

_Last year, I went to the Valentine dance with Reese. Jasmine and Isobel took me shopping after I set certain Rules. I can almost hear myself saying, "No lace, no hearts, nothing poofy, and nothing pink." Having Stephen back is more than I ever could have hoped for, but it's times like this that I really, really wish that I still had girl friends. You know, people to binge on ice cream with, paint our nails ten different colors, stay up until all hours watching chick flicks that we rented on impulse. Some things you can do with your guy friends, and those things are great. Some you can't. And sometimes you can pinpoint exactly when things went wrong between you and the people you care about, or think of a really good reason why they did. Sometimes you can't. _

_Isobel's been sent to an all-girls' school in Minnesota or somewhere. She's made plenty of new friends who appreciate a kook. Jasmine and I are still not speaking; she thinks that I'm making a big mistake by siding with a "freak." That doesn't stop me from missing her, any more than I can ever just turn off years of friendship after one fight. People who can are, in my humble opinion, disturbed._

_I made sure to tell Joanne that the dress I wore to the dance last year still fits. That's the truth, but I told her so we wouldn't have to go shopping together. She's glad I'm going, even if it's by myself. And that's a lie, one of maybe five or six that I've told her in my life. Just so I can hang out with my best friend, which he still is, no matter what else is happening between us._

_I hope it's worth it._

_As long as Joanne's wrong, which she must be, it is. Always._

A/N: Thoughts on "Under Lock and Key":

Okay, the beginning was kewl. I loved the sequence with Gambit sneaking into Warren's house, and I was shocked to see Mesmero again (does anyone else think he bears a freakish resemblance to Xavier, albeit with green lines drawn on his face?!). I liked Magneto's demand that our mind-bending friend "release your mental hold on Gambit — now!" (Poor brainwashed Remy!) And his "Don't bother" when Mesmero tried to put the whammy on him.

May I just say, I thought the "Mutant Ball" scene was fantastic? It makes sense that the X-Men and the new recruits would have some group pastimes besides training their asses off in the Danger Room. It was neat to see them all having fun together for a change, and, of course, I appreciated a glimpse of Amanda in the stands. The scene between Kurt and Rogue was oh so sweet; even I, having not seen "Self Possessed," was able to say "aw" at the fuzzy one's promise to be there for his sister… and her reaction, which definitely contained something besides disgust. It shows how much she's changed, which is a _good_ thing.

What else did I like? Bobby's role in the whole thing (even though his taste in clothes is questionable). Xavier catching Mesmero off guard and digging through his mind. Pyro's fire shapes. Magneto's reaction to finding out he was being played. And the fact that the five original X-Men — Scooter, Jean, Angel, Beast, and Iceman — were fighting together in this episode. (I actually did _not_ get this until someone pointed it out to me. Bad Neva, no biscuit.)

However, the sequence with the giant spectral spider made my eyes glaze over after a while. And while I'm glad they followed up on the Apocalypse thread begun in "Mindbender," I've always been a little worried about the effect that it's going to have on the show in general. Okay, okay, I knew it couldn't stay _My So-Called Life_ with mutant powers forever. And I know that they're trying to introduce more elements from the comics. But couldn't they have started smaller, like with the Hellfire Club, perhaps? One reason I've always liked Evo (I love _Ultimate X-Men_ for the same reason, or maybe because Xavier is so evil in that reality) is because of its ability to keep everything on a human level even though its main players aren't exactly human. I mean, the whole shaman thing was the only part of "African Storm" I really had a problem with. Quests to find mystical artifacts in order to free an ancient evil (or keep it from being freed) are fine in their place, but the whole thing reminds me a little too much of _Jackie Chan Adventures_. Or _The Mummy_. Or — dare I say it — _Pokemon_. The storylines have been fine so far without the fate of the universe being at stake even once. This is one of my favorite shows and I'm ready for whatever they plan to do next; I'm just keeping my fingers crossed that the writers will be able to handle it.


	17. Precipice

Chapter 16: Precipice   
  
  
  
_To: darkwarrior@yahoo.com   
  
From: MasterOfDisaster@hotmail.com   
  
Subject: the big project   
  
  
  
_So. How's everything in the middle of nowhere? I'm not kidding, you have to get back here. Your sister's friends say the same thing about her. Come on, your dad can't just dump you in — what's the name of that town again? — just because he's got a new crazy idea. Can he?   
  
_   
  
Still no luck getting Dani to notice me. She's apparently from "the wrong side of the tracks" whatever THAT means so my mom was all, "Douglas Ramsey, think twice before you get into anything serious with this one." I couldn't think of anything to say, so I didn't say anything. But she really pisses me off sometimes, Larry. Like she knows who the "right" people are. So what are the girls like where you are?   
  
  
  
Write soon, man.   
  
  
  
_— _Doug   
  
  
  
To: MasterOfDisaster@hotmail.com   
  
From: darkwarrior@yahoo.com   
  
Subject: re: the big project   
  
  
  
Her name is Angelina. She's a senior, so you're not the one chasing older women. Dresses kind of punky, but doesn't act it.   
  
  
  
Funny you should ask about that, because I had to learn from her that the big project of which you spoke has something to do with mutants. With DESTROYING mutants. She found out when she went to spy at an FOH meeting. I swear I'm not making this up.   
  
  
  
I've never been exactly sure what I think of mutants. I don't know any personally, and the most negative thing I've ever thought when I'm seeing the news reports on TV is, "At least it's not happening to me." Stupid, right? But I don't want to send — I think she called them "Sentinels" — to stomp them. How about you?   
  
  
  
I've been trying to call him, but there's never any answer.   
  
  
  
Tell me how things go with Dani. Has everyone forgotten me yet?   
  
  
  
_— _Larry   
  
  
  
P.S. Tanya's acting like this is her second home now. I don't get it. Or maybe it's because her friends have been sending her news, pictures, gossip. All the stuff I don't even care about.   
  
_   
  
**   
  
  
  
At first she looked like nothing if not a giant, flapping black bird. Then he saw the sunlight catch her hair, which was now completely crimson, and stopped until she'd caught up to him. "Hi."   
  
  
  
"Hi," he said nervously. "Are you still angry about"   
  
  
  
Angelina cut him off. "I was never angry."   
  
  
  
I didn't know this was what he was planning, I swear.   
  
  
  
Chill, Larry. I believe you.   
  
  
  
I don't believe this!   
  
  
  
Me, neither. Maybe nobody will take him seriously.   
  
  
  
They'll take him seriously.   
  
  
  
Are you going back to live with him?   
  
  
  
I don't know. I can't exactly picture myself living with the judge and Alison, but I've only got a year and a bit of high school to go. And I know my dad will want me to join his cause.   
  
  
  
This is a really dangerous thing that your dad's got going.   
  
  
  
That, I do know. And kind of evil.   
  
  
  
she repeated, eyebrows raised.   
  
  
  
Just kind of.   
  
  
  
So do I get to call you Larry, Son of Evil'? she asked with a mischievous grin.   
  
  
  
In your dreams."   
  
  
  
"Okay, then. So you're walking home?"   
  
  
  
"Yeah, I live just up the road." He hesitated, squinting at something above her, the wind playing with his dark hair. "Want to come with me, and, you know, hang out?"   
  
  
  
She didn't even hesitate. "Sure. I'd like that."   
  
  
  
**   
  
  
  
A note taped to the refrigerator revealed the cruciality of concluding the Brigham trial, whatever that was, and that Alison had to work late as well.   
  
  
  
Thanks for the heads-up, Your Honor, Larry muttered, ripping the note off the fridge and crumpling it in his hand.   
  
  
  
Your Honor'?   
  
  
  
Judge Chalmers is _not _the type you call by his first name, no matter what. I have to keep from calling him Your Honor' to his face. Hope you don't mind it being just the two of us.   
  
  
  
It's okay. I'm used to coming home to an empty house. My mom works in the evenings, too. So where's Tanya?   
  
  
  
She has cheerleading practice. We've got crackers and disgusting, unhealthy orange cheese. And Smartfood in the cabinet, unless she's eaten it all.   
  
  
  
Sounds good to me. _Do not think you have to be a gracious host here _, she willed. Boys were so bad at that, while most girls -- herself included, much as she hated to admit it -- seemed to be able to perform it with a marginal amount of grace and dignity. It was one of life's little mysteries, one that she didn't feel like wasting her time solving.   
  
  
  
I don't get it, he complained as they sat at the table with the striped cloth, gorging on cheddar-cheese popcorn from a bag roughly the size of a feed sack. We haven't been here a month, even, and she's already, you know, with it.'   
  
  
  
You haven't made any friends?   
  
  
  
Well, you. And I've started hanging out some with Reese Levine and Bernie Lang and the rest of the track squad.   
  
  
  
Angelina stared at him over the top of her orange soda. You run?   
  
  
  
Some. I got an idea that you don't survive long here if you're not involved in sports somehow.   
  
  
  
That's pretty much it. Were you, like, popular in your old school?   
  
  
  
I guess. Smart enough I didn't bore people, not so smart that I scared them away. I always liked chemistry the best. You?   
  
  
  
English. I like to write.   
  
  
  
Dr. Nance is a space cadet, did you know that? He wears a tie-dyed lab coat. Thinks he's, what's that guy's name? The one on TV who gets all excited about nitrogen?   
  
  
  
Uh, Bill Nye the Science Guy? Angelina had always formally detested that show.   
  
  
  
Him, yeah. They both laughed, which brought down whatever tension had remained between them.   
  
  
  
Back at my old school, everyone knew that my dad was crazy. Like I said, he knew about mutants before anyone else did. And he was pretty, you know, vocal about it.   
  
  
  
How did he know?   
  
  
  
I never asked. I guess I sort of accepted that he was for real, you know, like you always do when you're younger. But nobody else believed him. I don't think Mom ever did, but I don't really remember. By the time I got to high school, though, it was cool to think your folks were nuts. Now I _wish _he was.   
  
  
  
I don't think Joanne's nuts because it's _cool _, Angelina said scornfully. I think it because it's _true _. She acts like she ordered happiness out of a catalogue and is still waiting for it to come in the mail. She was proud and a bit frightened of how easily they'd steered the topic away from mutants. It seemed to be an unspoken agreement that neither of them would mention the debate, or Xavier, or the search that was now out for the mysterious evildoers. She had not told Phoebe about the Sentinels.   
  
  
  
You still here? Larry asked.   
  
  
  
What? Oh. Uh-huh. Just in time, she noticed his encore presentation of the once-over he'd given her on his first day. She looked down, suddenly painfully aware that she was wearing _very _tight jeans, a strategically ripped T-shirt that reveled a rhinestone pasted on her belly button, and twice as much silver jewelry as usual. And I don't dress like this to rebel against her, either. I just like the look.   
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
I'm serious.   
  
  
  
No, I believe you.   
  
  
  
Of course, the fact that she described it as a told her something right then and there. Whenever someone dresses like this, or refuses to wear pastel and glitter everything, they think it's some kind of _statement _. What's wrong with doing things because you like them, not because it's in... or out? Rebelling is just another way of reacting to what everyone else thinks. _Stop it, you're babbling, you're babbling...   
  
_   
  
You don't exactly seem like that kind of girl, either.   
  
  
  
What kind of girl?   
  
  
  
The kind who has nightmares about breaking a nail and loses sleep over who's going to the Valentine's Day dance with who.   
  
  
  
What's not to know? Just spend some time in either bathroom or sneak a look at the notes that go by your desk and you know everything. Just because I think high school is the armpit of the universe doesn't mean I can ignore everything that goes on there.   
  
  
  
I know that Kevin Travis is going with Jasmine Shelley.   
  
  
  
Well, duh. They, like, took out an ad in the _Eyewitness _.   
  
  
  
I know what you mean. Everyone knows by now, even me.   
  
  
  
No, no, Angelina set down her glass. I mean, they literally took out an ad. It's on page seven. Look for it when it comes out. K.T. and J.S. bound eternally or something like that.   
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
And The Ineffable Jeff... watch it, or you'll snarf out your nose! she cried as he practically choked on his Seven-Up.   
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
Why should you be? It's your house.   
  
  
  
Right. Do you really call him that?   
  
  
  
My sister thought it up. Anyway, he's going with Cindy Stepford. And I'm trying to convince Phoebe to go with Stephen if he asks her.   
  
  
  
Stephen's the guy with the T-shirts, right? Larry asked.   
  
  
  
Uh-huh. They've liked each other for a really long time, but she's always been kind of... you know. She had been worried that she'd have to dance around the truth, like she was part of some secret society. With Stephen as the fearless leader, no doubt. She did hate that, hated the way Phoebe constantly wondered what he would think about mutant-related situations. _You're the one who doesn't want it to be a big deal! _she felt like saying sometimes. _You don't need to do this. He's already crazy about you.   
  
_   
  
Do you have a date yet? Now he was back to awkward again.   
  
  
  
I wasn't going to go.   
  
  
  
He ran one finger around the edge of his soda can.   
  
  
  
Most of these dances are a way to flaunt your significant other, and I don't have one. _Stop it, you're leaving the door wide open.   
  
_   
  
Would you go if someone asked you?   
  
  
  
She gave him her best challenging stare. Not if he took about ten years to do it. He'd have to just come out and say it. Will you go to the dance with me?' Why is it so hard for you people to --   
  
  
  
Will you go to the dance with me? Larry asked. And I don't like when girls play games when answering, either. They should just say yes.' Or   
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
He didn't look like he could believe it.   
  
  
  
You heard me.   
  
  
  
he said, trying to look like he knew what her answer would be all along.   
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
Larry made a desperate attempt to keep from smiling. He wasn't so successful at that. 


	18. Valentine's Day

Chapter 17: Valentine's Day

_To: stevie_wonder@hotmail.com_

_From: fuzzy_elf@xnet.edu_

_Subject: love is in the air_

_I am taking Amanda out to dinner for Valentine's. We're going to Wilfred's. I think I embarrassed myself a little bit by doing a victory dance when she said yes, and I'm going to meet her there since I don't think her parents like me much. The professor gave me permission, but he didn't smile like he did when Jean and Scott made goopy-faces at each other and then tried to hide it. Kitty found flowers in her locker this afternoon. She didn't say who it was from, but we all know. And she threw away the flowers, but kept the note that came with them._

_Do you have any plans?_

— _The Elf_

**

"That little _brat_!" Violet exploded as soon as she entered the kitchen. She flung her backpack onto a chair.

Stephen put down his sandwich. "Who's a little brat?"

"Elaine! She got, like, twenty valentines, and ten of them were from _boys_. I heard her telling Kyra that Jack put on his that he wanted to go out with her."

"Do _you_ like Jack?"

"I don't know. He smells. And he thinks he's a superhero — no offense."

"None taken."

"A lot of girls think he has really cute freckles, but I don't see what's so great about them." Violet sighed and opened the refrigerator. "I'm never gonna find a boyfriend. And I don't even think I want one. I told Mommy that, and she just smiled _cryptically_ at me and said 'You will.'" She retrieved a green apple — the only kind she'd eat — and took a big bite. "How do you like that word? Cryptically. Like _Tales From The Crypt_." 

"I like it." He continued eating, letting her chatter wash over him, a blessed wave of family normalcy.

"Anyway, even Nina's started putting on makeup so the boys in our class'll notice her. I don't get it. Do you think that means I'm a lesbian?"

Stephen stared at her. "Vi, you're ten," he reminded her.

"I'm almost eleven."

"I don't think I even knew what a lesbian was when I was eleven."

"But I don't like boys. Mom said that I will someday, but she won't say anything else." 

Charity's father had been a minister, and he had obviously taught her the importance of keeping herself to herself, and everyone else to themselves. Which had had come in _very_ handy in the past year. Whatever other uses she had put it to, Stephen could only imagine the attempt to teach Violet the facts of life. "Ask Phoebe, then," he suggested. "She's like your big sister."

"I could do that. Are you guys going out tonight?"

"Tomorrow. The dance, remember?"

"Right, yeah. The dance. Are you going to get her a present?"

"Already did."

"You guys are so cute together."

"Thanks. I think."

"I mean it," Violet said. "The whole _world_ knew you liked her, except her. Can I ask you a question?"

"Sure."

"Will you answer?"

"Depends."

"Don't get mad. Do you think you still would have gotten together if you hadn't… I mean, if you weren't…"

Crash. The wave broke. "Violet."

"You're mad," she accused.

"No, I'm not mad."

"Then why do you have that look on your face?"

_I can't believe I'm discussing my love life with my baby sister,_ Stephen thought reflexively, then paused. The seven-year different between their ages had always compelled him to think of her as "the baby," but there was less truth to that than he would have liked to admit. She was still small and skinny and flat-chested, still walked around enveloped in baggy clothes, and still obstinately refused to wear any makeup, but her face had started to take on a sort of… shape, a cast that didn't have anything to do with the features of a little girl. He knew that she'd stopped playing alien-invasion games with her Barbie dolls and had become partial to boy bands (although she'd retained her love for fantasy stories). When had all of this happened? He wasn't sure. Maybe he'd been so busy working out the changes in his own life that he hadn't given hers a second thought. One thing was for sure: he didn't feel like it would be a waste of time, answering her question. The expression on her face, devoid of her rage toward Elaine Shelley, didn't look much like a little girl's, either. "I don't know," he said at last. "I'm not really thinking about that. The important thing is that we're together now. And she thinks of me as being as normal as she is."

"And you like that?" Violet asked, sounding surprised.

"It's why I came back, isn't it?"

"Um, Stevie, can I ask you something else?" This time, she didn't wait for permission. "Was it really horrible at that place?"

He was sure he looked as shocked as she'd sounded. He had never discussed with his family the details of his life at the Institute. He'd always assumed that none of them were interested.

_"Very good, Messiah. Your shields are growing more formidable with each passing day."_

_"That was a _test_?"_

_"Of course. Part of being an X-Man is dealing with the element of surprise."_

_"I thought I was going crazy… or losing my memory… or something."_

_"Stephen, why are you getting so upset? Ask Jean — she'll tell you that I attempted the same thing with her during her earliest days here."_

He'd had no intention of seeking reassurance from Jean. He didn't want to tell her — or anyone — how strange it had felt to wake up in his own room, with no memory of how he'd gotten there, or of anything except a blazing pain in his head and the scenery around him losing focus slowly. Then nothing. He didn't want Jean to patronize him; he could barely stand it from Xavier (who, to his credit, had never tried anything like that again).

Then he thought of Kurt and Jubilee and the New Mutants, of snowball fights, secret midnight refrigerator raids, and practical jokes. And of last Valentine's Day, when everyone had taken pains to be civil to Lance, and Jamie had arranged for multiples of himself to put together the pieces of a giant pink heart for Rahne (except, of course, none of them would follow orders). "Not horrible," he said now.

"I'm glad you came back," Violet told him.

"I am, too." Then, to lighten the mood as he was supposed to be good at doing, "What do you want to bet that Elaine faked all those valentines she got?"

Violet's face lit up. "You think?"

"Sure. We used to do it, too. Nobody wants to be the unpopular one."

"Too late," she said glumly.

"Never." And he hoped he was right about that, for more reasons than just one.

**

_Dear Kitty,_

I'm so not good at this whole love letter thing. But hear me out, okay? I know you said we couldn't see each other anymore, what with Magneto lurking around and everyone hating on mutants, it wouldn't be good to complicate things. I'm not even going to say why I think you really broke it off, because one thing I've learned from being with you is that it's never as bad as it seems. And if it isn't as bad as I think it is, then maybe we still have a chance. Hey, if Blue can make things happen with a girl who isn't even one of us, then maybe it's more than maybe.

_I want us to have a chance. I know that I might not be what you're looking for, but sometimes you don't know what you're looking for until you find it. I don't know where I got that._

_Anyway, that's what I have to say this Valentine's. Your present to me is that you think about what you really want. I'm always going to love you, Kitty. Nothing can change that._

_Lance_


	19. Like There's No Tomorrow

Chapter 18: Like There's No Tomorrow   
  
  
  
"It's beautiful," Phoebe said softly. The lights in her room had been turned down low, and she'd actually looked for something romantic in her CD collection. He'd razzed her for several minutes about the fact that she did willfully and freely choose Celine Dion as "mood music," making it seem almost like old times again. And then he'd given her this.   
  
  
  
"You like it?" On his way to her house — he wanted to arrive early so they'd be able to spend time together before the dance — he'd been anxious about giving her the necklace, realizing too late that she rarely wore jewelry apart from earrings. But the light blue stone, delicate but sparkling, had seemed to wink at him from the jewelry case at the Postern Gate. Luckily, Reese hadn't been behind the counter at the time.   
  
  
  
"I love it." She fastened it around her neck, fumbling slightly with the clasp. "It doesn't seem like a 'you' kind of gift, but I love it. I guess you're full of surprises."   
  
  
  
"Guess so."   
  
  
  
She frowned at her reflection. "It doesn't really go with my dress."   
  
  
  
"Oh," Stephen said.   
  
  
  
"And I don't give a damn," she added with a grin, tossing her hair.   
  
  
  
"Ready for your present?"   
  
  
  
"Always," he replied.   
  
  
  
She ducked into her closet for a minute and triumphantly produced a large, soft package. "Ta-da! Happy Valentine's Day." She rolled her eyes as he shook it next to one ear, then the other. "Would you just open it?" Clearly she was remembering his obsessive tendency to peel each piece of tape off of wrapping paper s-l-o-w-l-y, then unwrap his Christmas and birthday presents about a half inch at a time. When either of his parents would complain, or Angelina would pretend to snore, or anyone at all would laugh, he would snap, _Oh, get used to it! _Except, for a while, his voice had squeaked, which had only made them laugh harder.   
  
  
  
Now, from the pile of tissue paper, he lifted a black T-shirt. White letters across the front spelled out, _See how easy it is when you just ignore the angst?   
  
_   
  
He was speechless.   
  
  
  
_The world holds few surprises for us telepaths. Remember that.   
  
_   
  
_Wrong again _, he told the memory of Xavier's voice. "Did you get this done at the mall?"   
  
  
  
She nodded. "Do you like it?" she asked nervously.   
  
  
  
"It's great. How'd you know I was looking for a new shirt?" He was struck by an unexpected, fervent desire for her not to say, _Maybe I'm psychic _.  
  
  
  
"I didn't, actually. I just remembered what you said to me, and you were right. You've always been right. This connection that we have just means we were meant to be."   
  
  
  
"Meant to be," Stephen repeated, amazed in the truest sense of the word. Because that was what she was. Amazing.   
  
  
  
"_Meant to be, _" she confirmed. "You have me, okay? _You _have me."   
  
  
  
"Good."   
  
  
  
"Come on, you were just as clueless as I was."   
  
  
  
"Guilty." He held the T-shirt up again and studied it. "I'll always wear this to remind you."   
  
  
  
"And yourself," she chided.   
  
  
  
"And myself," he agreed, and kissed her. No interruptions, no excuses, no fear. On the stereo, Celine encouraged her listeners not to give up on their faith, because love came to those who believed.   
  
  
  
She stepped back — eventually. "Come on. Larry and Angelina are waiting downstairs."   
  
  
  
**   
  
  
  
_If I'm not careful _, Angelina thought, _I might actually be able to pass for a normal teenager _. Would that really be so bad? Or so hard? Maybe not, but it would certainly be a new thing for her. She had never completely grasped the concept of knowing nothing more than that it was some kind of stamp of approval to her Grade school had taught her that it did not mean a) showing emotion, 2) making no attempts to chase boys, c) speaking out in class. The beginning of high school had taught her that when someone said you were they meant, not normal, that anything beyond the way you dressed could win you a trip to the guidance office. And the last few months had taught her that normal was necessary if you wanted to see the last bell. Same old boring, boring, boring story that cropped up now and then in the history of the Goddess' green earth.   
  
  
  
She was long past the point where she believed that the word had any meaning you could pin down. What people expect was the closest she could come. _But what they expected from whom?   
  
_   
  
She chanced a look around while she and Larry were dancing. Brendan Johnson was weaving through the crowd, trying to avoid Meg Cady, who had a desperate crush on him. Pat Fishmelt was pouring something vaguely blue on Caleb's head. Phoebe was executing the shimmy-step the two of them had practiced together. In a way, Angelina envied her; she was with someone with whom she felt totally comfortable. She herself felt okay now, like her old confident self but was still waiting to feel like she was only pretending to fit in, like she always did when she was expected to follow the rules.   
  
  
  
You look pretty tonight, Larry said.   
  
  
  
What? Oh. Thanks. When had been the last time a guy had said she looked nice? Frank Killingsworth, her date to the eighth-grade square dance? Maybe. Not like a slut?   
  
  
  
Not like a slut at all. It took guts to dress like that.   
  
  
  
You look good, too. Kind of like James Bond, but good.   
  
  
  
Stirred, not shaken?   
  
  
  
I think it's the other way around, she corrected him. Why are you looking at me like that?   
  
  
  
You like the Bond movies?   
  
  
  
Kind of. Surprised?   
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
Okay, don't laugh. She leaned closer to him. When I was a kid, I wanted to be a secret agent.   
  
  
  
He didn't laugh, just asked,   
  
  
  
She shrugged. Don't know. Maybe it was the cool gadgets. Maybe I just liked the sound of, I'm afraid that's classified.' But I think it was more because I liked to travel. Or would have if I'd done much travelling. Wince. In Wallglass, the general idea of travel is a trip to McDonald's.   
  
  
  
I noticed. So, your idea of travel would be...   
  
  
  
To Europe, she replied. Or an unexplored island. When I'm famous.   
  
  
  
A famous secret agent? he said skeptically.   
  
  
  
No, stupid. A writer, maybe. A journalist. An actress. Right now, I'd just settle for the far away from here' part.   
  
  
  
She took a deep breath. Um, Larry?   
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
When are you supposed to be going back to D.C.? You know, to live with your dad?   
  
  
  
I talked to him the other day. He wants us to finish out the school year here."   
  
  
  
She didn't even try to hide her excitement. "That's great!"   
  
  
  
"Before we even left, Tanya and I were counting the days till we could leave. I think she still is. She says she's going to, quote, die in this hick town.' Unquote.   
  
  
  
Are you still counting the days? she asked, not really sure how she wanted him to answer. Reality had come crashing down on her the second he'd told her where he was from. She'd remembered all too well that of course he was going back there. _Stop it _, she told herself. _Just stop! You're not going to go all angsty just because a guy has to leave you. Look what it did to Phoebe.   
  
_   
  
It's a stupid idea. It'll happen whether I wait for it or not. You know, Angelina, I had a really fun time with you.   
  
  
  
Why the past tense? It's not over yet.   
  
  
  
You think there's, you know, an it' to be over? He shook his head. Am I making sense?   
  
  
  
Perfect sense. Let's see. We've walked together. We've danced together. I forgave you for being Larry Son of Evil... yeah, I think we have something there.   
  
  
  
Thanks for telling me what's really going on.   
  
  
  
Least I could do. I mean, if the human race is gonna survive this, we shouldn't let ourselves be lied to.   
  
  
  
The deejay put on a slow song. Before Angelina could roll her eyes in Larry's direction at all the stupid couples hanging onto each other's necks, the two of them were dancing together again. She didn't even have time to protest, and was sort of glad for it.   
  
  
  
**   
  
  
  
Although Phoebe had clapped as loudly as anyone by the time the Screaming Civilians had finished playing and the DJ had taken over again, she wasn't at all prepared to be accosted by the punch table. In black jeans and a black T-shirt, he looked out of place among all the other boys dressed in suits that they dragged out of their closets maybe once a year. "You sounded good," she said.   
  
  
  
"Thanks," Reese said, flashing a smile. She could vaguely remember a time when that smile used to make her melt on the spot. "Recognize that last song?"   
  
  
  
It was called "Emerald Eyes" and it had been her birthday present last April, when they'd still been going out. "Uh-huh."   
  
  
  
"What've you been doing?"   
  
  
  
"Thinking about college," she replied. It was only natural that he had asked, right?   
  
  
  
"Really? Like where?"   
  
  
  
"Like NYU, Emerson, Hampshire. How about you?"   
  
  
  
"Me?" he repeated. "I'm not thinking about that just yet."   
  
  
  
"What are you going to do instead?"   
  
  
  
"I want to travel," Reese said, getting a dreamy kind of look in his eyes. "Damian and Bernie and I, I mean."   
  
  
  
Damian played the drums, even when there were no drums in front of him. Bernie, who'd been Reese's best friend on the track team before they'd formed their band, spent all of his salary on beer. And Reese himself had picked up a nonchalant, drawling way of talking that Phoebe didn't recognize and wasn't sure she liked. "So, who'd you come with?"   
  
  
  
"Me? Oh, nobody."   
  
  
  
She was surprised, and hoped it didn't show. Reese _always _got the girls, and she knew for a fact that Natalie Dawes had a huge crush on him. "You're not dating anyone?"   
  
  
  
"No, I haven't since we broke up."   
  
  
  
She could sense where this was going. "That's too bad," she said carefully.   
  
  
  
"I mean, we've played at Dahlia's, and all the girls there look at us like we're God's gift to the female race — you know, I don't even know what that's about. God gives weirder presents than my Aunt Moira."   
  
  
  
She laughed. _That _sounded like the old Reese.   
  
  
  
"I thought having fans would make me feel better about myself. But it doesn't. They're all, 'So, do you have a girlfriend?' And when I say no, they look at me like I've grown another head. And then I remember how much I miss you."   
  
  
  
"You miss me?"   
  
  
  
"Uh-huh. We had a lot of fun together, Phoebe. Remember?"   
  
  
  
She did remember. They'd watched the fireworks together in July, and later in the summer, he'd taken one of the boats out onto the lake at night. She remembered how she'd cried when he'd given her the mix tape with "Emerald Eyes" on it.   
  
  
  
"And all these girls have had crushes on me, but none of them are you. What'd I do wrong?"   
  
  
  
She sighed. "I was in a bad place then," she said, more carefully still. "It wasn't you."   
  
  
  
"Oh." He tugged at whatever he could manage to grab of his spiky hair. "Are you still in a bad place?"   
  
  
  
Phoebe couldn't believe this. "No, but I'm with Stephen. You know that, right?" _Get me out of here, please get me out of here   
  
_   
  
"Right. Your funny friend with the shirts. Who everyone's saying was on drugs, or in the loony bin, or a mutant, or all three. So, which is it?"   
  
  
  
"None of your business. Sorry."   
  
  
  
Reese held up his hands. "Don't get me wrong," he said. "I think he's a great guy. And he's liked you since the beginning of high school. I remember how he would always, you know, stare at you like you were a box of candy in a store window. Kind of pathetic, if you ask me."   
  
  
  
Phoebe realized she'd been holding the empty cup in her hands for God knew how long. "What did you say?" she asked in a soft, dangerous voice she'd never heard herself use before.   
  
  
  
"He's always been a little weird, that's all. Not in a bad way. I just don't know if he'd be good for you."   
  
  
  
"Reese, you never used to talk like this."   
  
  
  
"Come on, Phoebe, at least think about it," he appealed. "He was a good friend to you, we know that, but"   
  
  
  
She crunched the cup in her hand. "You don't have the slightest _idea _what's good for me."   
  
  
  
"But you and I we had something special," he went on as if she hadn't spoken. "We were the perfect couple."   
  
  
  
"I know we were," Phoebe agreed. "But"   
  
  
  
"But what?"   
  
  
  
"But that's not what matters to me," she finished, and went to find Stephen.   
  
  
  
**   
  
  
  
_February 14   
  
_   
  
I guess I shouldn't be any stranger to my whole world falling apart in half a second. But no matter how many times it happens, it can still throw you off course like you wouldn't believe.   
  
  
  
The whole thing with Reese should have served as some sick sort of omen. I don't know what I would have done if he hadn't backed off. I wasn't expecting to be, like, rescued or anything, even though I would have only been angry if the rescuer was anyone else but Stephen, just like I probably wouldn't have had nearly as much fun if I'd been with anyone else. The two of us talked about the silly, stupid things friends talk about, nothing about the mutant situation or how the truth is out there. I just felt like everything would be okay now, for me, for him, for both of us together. Or at least okay enough.   
  
  
  
_The dance was fabulous. Angelina and Larry looked really happy together. I've always been worried -- well, not worried, really, but wondering -- about whether she'd ever find someone that makes her face all glowy the way he does. It took me totally by surprise when it finally happened.   
  
_   
  
_I've never liked these things myself, and I've always felt like the king-and-queen-of-the-dance competitions they seem to find an excuse for having at each one are just an excuse for a popularity contest. (In case you were wondering, Jasmine and Kevin won this year.) I spent the entirety of last year's dance wondering if I smelled, if I would step on Reese's feet, and how I should move and smile at such-and-such a time. That was almost enough to make me decide that it was more trouble than it was worth.   
  
_   
  
_So. We drove back to our house, you see — we were all four of us in my car, which I bought at a lot from a guy who talked like James Bond — and Joanne was waiting for us when we got inside. She'd told Angel and me that she wasn't going to be back from her date until the wee hours of the morning, and not to wait up — not that we would have anyway — but there she was.   
  
_   
  
_I'll write what happened next later, after I've stopped being too mad to think. I'll just say not that being yelled at and humiliated in front of my sister and my friends is not my idea of how to end a perfect fairy-tale evening. _


	20. Works of Friction

Chapter 19: Works of Friction

**

_Okay. Calmer now. I got some water and changed out of my dress. Where was I?_

_Oh, yeah. We got inside, and Joanne was sitting there on the couch, all calm and regal._

_Angelina: "I thought you were on a date."_

_Joanne: "It didn't last as long as I expected. Why didn't you tell me that you attending the dance with dates?"_

_Larry: "Uh, I can explain, Ms. Corlisle."_

_Joanne: "It doesn't surprise me that Angelina would do something like this."_

_Me: "That's not fair! Maybe we were wrong not to tell you, but neither of us thought it mattered."_

_She turned on me then. "I was going to deal with you next. This just isn't like you."_

_Me: "You told me that you didn't want me to see any more of him! What else was I supposed to do?"_

_Joanne: "You were supposed to do as I said."_

_Angelina: "Joanne, we're seventeen years old! I think she can make her own --"_

_Stephen: "Maybe I should go."_

_Joanne: "Just you hold it right there. How did you get Phoebe to go to the dance with you?"_

_Stephen: "I asked her."_

_Joanne: "No, I mean, how did you get her to disobey me and go to the dance with you?"_

_Me: "He didn't know that it would be disobeying you. Neither did I, really. Since when is it a crime to want to hang out with someone I care about?" I knew where this was going, of course, and hated her for it, but stopping her would be like trying to stop a tidal wave._

_Joanne: "It isn't a crime. I'm just looking out for your best interests here. And if what I've seen lately is any indication, I think it would be in your best interests not to see any more of him."_

_Me: "You can't make me do that."_

_Joanne: "I can call Charity and explain the situation." She turns to Stephen, still wearing a really creepy smile. "I know that you and my daughter are interested in each other. I suppose I should be glad that she's with someone I've known for so long. But you think I don't watch the news? I know what happens to people who get involved in this mess."_

_Me: "What mess?"_

_Joanne: "You know perfectly well what I'm talking about."_

_Me: "Yeah, but I want to hear you say it."_

_Joanne: "People who mix with people with... differences... such as his..."_

_Larry: "Whoa, whoa. That mean what I think it means?"_

_Stephen: "It doesn't mean anything."_

_Joanne: "What are you going to do about it? Wipe his mind?" He backed down, and I don't blame him. When I was a little kid and she talked to me like that, I wanted to curl into a ball and die. "Angelina and her father may think that I don't care about my girls, but I do. And I know when somebody's making Phoebe's life a living nightmare."_

_Me: "Stop it! You can't even say the word, can you? It doesn't matter that he's your best friend's son. It sure as hell doesn't matter how he feels about me. Because mutants aren't supposed to have feelings, are they?" Angelina looked seriously pissed, Larry just looked confused, and I was crying. I don't know what made me say what I said next. Maybe it came from standing up to Reese, from the high I was still on from the otherwise perfect dance, I don't know. All I know is that I had to say it. "Joanne… Mom… what if it had been me?"_

_Joanne: "Excuse me?"_

_Me: "Would you treat me like this if I were a mutant?" Did not want to ask about Angelina._

_Joanne: "That's ridiculous. You're not… of course you're not… are you?" She looked over at Stephen again, as if he were contagious. "I know you girls. I know you couldn't be…"_

_Me: "Darren and Charity 'knew' Stephen, didn't they? Answer my question."_

_Joanne: "It would be an entirely different situation. There's no reason for anyone to get involved in this kind of mess unless they have to."_

_"I don't believe this," was what I said next. ThenI ran up to my room and shut the door, and that's where I'm writing this now. _

**

Someone knocked on the door. "Go away!" she shouted.

"If you insist..."

She opened the door. "Where's Joanne?"

"Gone," Stephen said with a shrug. "I guess she went somewhere to cool off."

"Where are…"

"Angelina and Larry?" he finished for her. "He left. She's downstairs. Fuming. Um, can I come in?"

"Sure. Are you okay?"

"I will be. You?"

"Me, too."

He sat down on her bed. "Want to talk about it?"

"'Best interests,'" she murmured.

"Huh?"

"Joanne said that she was looking out for my best interests," Phoebe clarified. "It's the little things that bring me back, I guess… anyway, _he_ said that. I don't remember when it was exactly, but he said the same thing about you, and…" She shook her head. "You must think I'm so silly. And I've been trying not to think about him. But I can't help it sometimes."

There were times when Stephen was amazed by Phoebe's strength, but when it came to Xavier, all bets seemed to be off. Not that he blamed her. Not by a long shot.

"You know what she was accusing you of, right?" she asked in a rush.

"Yeah." He stared at his feet. "Yeah. I do." Then he turned to face her. "You know that I would _never_ do anything like that, right?"

She nodded.

"Then I don't care what she thinks." But she could tell from the look in his eyes that he did care. A lot. "But I was worried that you would… you know, not want to see me anymore."

"How come?"

"Because you're embarrassed. I mean, when Candy's dad caught me…"

"When she screamed for him, you mean," Phoebe corrected him, trying to lighten the mood. "What'd you expect, for her to throw rose petals on you?"

"It was worth a shot. Works on TV."

"Of course it does. Now, did you really try to climb the trellis, or was she just making that up?"

"Now you wonder? I never did any climbing. Anyway, she was so humiliated that she said she didn't think it was going to work out. I don't know, I guess I thought…"

"You really need to learn to finish your sentences," she teased before becoming serious again. "Xavier scared me more than anyone has ever scared me in my _life_, but even he couldn't keep us from being together. You think I'm going to let Joanne get to us? I thought you knew me better than that."

"So… you still want to see me?"

"_Yes_. Why do you even need to ask? You can see for yourself."

"I thought you didn't want to be reminded."

"You think that after tonight, I'm going to forget any time soon?" she demanded. "Besides, I trust you. Just like those stupid games we used to play on the ropes course."

"The ones where you fall backward?"

"Those, yeah," she said, nodding. "I know that you're always going to be there to catch me."


	21. Would You Rather?

Chapter 20: Would You Rather?

Phoebe was jolted out of a blissfully dreamless sleep by the ringing of the telephone. "I got it!" she called to no one in particular, nearly missing the phone. One of the things her friends had always envied her was her ability to wake up cheerful on weekend mornings, but even talents of that variety had limits. "Hello?"

"Nightingale, is that you?"

The familiar nickname woke her up a little more. "Hi, Dad."

"Am I calling too early?" Simon Corlisle asked.

"Not at all."

"What's new?"

She settled for an abbreviated version of the events of the last couple of weeks, highlighting her acceptance into Hampshire, which had merited an actual shriek when the letter had come yesterday.

"Congratulations."

"I was really worried I wouldn't get in." Her biggest worry, in fact, had been that they wouldn't take her seriously, that they would see right through her. Her number one reason for wanting to go to college was to escape -- Wallglass, Joanne, and any remnant of the person she used to be. Beyond that, she wasn't sure. All the schools she had applied to favored students who knew what they were doing. Ones who wanted to rise above the rest. Phoebe hadn't even known she could do that, and yet they had accepted her. Amazing. "How are you? Any new books I should know about?" Simon was an editor for a brand-new, relatively small publishing house that handled mostly fantasy novels. He always gave his daughters the heads-up when a new one landed on his desk.

"There's a rumor that Elayna Clarke is working on another of those magic-conspiracy books you like so much, but nothing certain."

"How's Marianne?"

"She's great."

"So, are you two setting a date yet?"

"We're not really thinking about that yet, honey," Simon chided.

"I know," Phoebe sighed. "I just want to watch one of my parents get married and know that it won't end in a screaming fight."

"I talked to your sister the other day. She said that you were seeing somebody."

Phoebe sat bolt upright. "She said what?"

"Is it true?"

"I'm going to kill her!"

"It's not Reese, is it?"

"What, you didn't like him either?" Phoebe groaned. "Did anyone?"

"I'm sure he was nice to you, but he came off as sounding rather... morbid."

Her father obviously didn't understand -- or had forgotten -- the high-school concept of Attitude. "I did like him. But it doesn't matter, because we haven't gotten back together."

"I'm glad."

"So who is it now?"

"You remember my friend Stephen, right?"

"Of course," said Simon. "I've never met him, but you've spoken of him. A lot."

"A lot," she echoed. "I know."

"I'd like to meet him sometime. Maybe next time I visit?"

"Sure."

"And you know what you're getting into this time?"

"Absolutely." _All too well_, she did not add. _Long-distance fatherly fear_. _Delightful_. The events of last weekend before came rushing back to her yet again. Coming home from a night of pure magic to a scene of unadulterated hell, the way she'd lashed out at Joanne for the first time ever, kissing Stephen in her room where anyone could have crossed the landing and gotten a good look at them... It was hard to believe it had happened, that it hadn't been part of some mad dream. But it had.

**

_February 22_

_I called Stephen to tell him. He was psyched. He filled out his applications with Charity and Darren practically breathing down his neck, catching and trying to eliminate every little mistake, kind of like Ms. Rivers does during rehearsals. I think they were worried about what he'd put for his extracurricular activities. Anyway, he's coming over later to celebrate. Joanne's still not happy about my spending too much time with him, but she's keeping her mouth shut. Angelina invited Larry, too, who's totally chill with the whole situation. Knock on wood! _

_Okay. I can't believe that there's a school that actually wants me. Daddy says that he felt that way when he got his first college acceptance, and I never should have had any doubt that I was good enough. I guess it's part of his job description to say that. I miss him very much._

_I'm planning on majoring in music, maybe becoming a music teacher (but not a control-freak one like Ms. Rivers) or maybe... I'm still undecided about whether to pursue my past dream of being a professional singer. I know that it's a career mostly based on looks, that nowadays they care more about how you look in tight jeans than how your voice sounds, that it's competitive and exhausting and you have no private life whatsoever once you become famous (if you ever do), but there's a part of me that still really, really wants it. And I believe that if you like singing enough (which I definitely do) and are confident enough in your talent (ummm... for the most part), then you don't need to depend on the tight pants._

_It really is scary, mostly because you know it's your decision, and nobody knows you better than you know yourself. Funny, because everyone around me has always seemed to. Are my Inner Self and what people think of me so similar because they really know me or because I've let myself be shaped by what they see? I'm not sure which one I'd prefer at this point._

_But I'll worry about all that later. The very fact that they want me should tell me something. The fact that I can mark up a victory that's because of me, not Joanne or Stephen or Angelina or anyone else, should count for something. Right???_

**

Okay. So he now, officially, did know a mutant.

Okay. So his dad was intent on destroying the entire mutant race.

Okay. So he was keeping company with a terrific girl — a sexy, unconventional, soon-to-be-college-bound girl — whom he'd have to leave once school ended.

But when the four of them were sitting in Angelina's living room on a Saturday afternoon, eating Pirate's Booty and continuing the game of Would You Rather? that they'd started on the drive home from the dance, none of it seemed to matter very much.

"My turn," Angelina said. "Would you rather sweat cheese or cry glue?"

"Would it be, like, Swiss cheese?" Larry wanted to know.

"Parmesan cheese?" Stephen suggested. "Or that gross runny stuff that costs a kajillion dollars at the supermarket?"

"Brie," Phoebe supplied. "I think you should at least get a choice, right, Angel?"

"Fine, you get a choice. So, what does anyone say?"

"Sweat cheese," Stephen said immediately.

"Me, too," said Larry.

"Boys," Phoebe said dramatically. "I'd cry glue. All I'd have to do is remember not to close my eyes. Okay. Would you rather leave a trail of paprika wherever you go or smell intensely of a raspberry?"

"Raspberry," Angelina replied almost before she'd finished speaking. "I like raspberries. I don't see what's so hard about that one."

"Me, too," Stephen agreed.

"Larry?"

"How intense is intense?"

"Use your imagination. And it's your turn."

"Hmmm." Larry caught Stephen looking at him critically, and had to try to keep from shuddering. He didn't _want_ to be uncomfortable in the other boy's presence, and supposed that it had a lot to do with the way he'd been raised (not to mention who'd done the raising). He'd tried to broach the subject with Angelina, but she'd been so outraged that he'd even think such prejudiced thoughts that he'd dropped it immediately. _ Stop it stop it stop it. You liked him well enough on the way to and back from the dance, and it isn't fair, what you're thinking now. Besides, what if he hears you?_ "Would you rather have do it with a walrus once or, um, never do it again?" he found himself saying.

Both girls shrieked. Stephen's ears turned red.

"Um, what exactly do you mean by 'again'?" Angelina asked.

"You've never…" Larry began, and then wanted to cut out his tongue.

But Angelina didn't look embarrassed at all. "We're playing Would You Rather?, not Truth or Dare," she said in an uncharacteristically prim voice. And that was all she would say on the subject, but she moved away from Larry and barely said a word to him until it was time for him to leave.

**

Later, he called to apologize. "I don't know what got to into me."

"It's okay. I just don't know why you have to be such a Teenage Boy just when we're actually having fun instead of whining."

"I'll try to restrain myself in the future," Larry assured her, then awarded himself major points for that line.

And it worked, because she laughed.

"So your sister's really dating a mutant?"

"Yup," she said for what she was sure was the fourth time.

"How'd it happen?"

"Kind of the same way we did… or are… but with more carrying on."

"Uh-huh," said Larry, not convinced. "There's more to it than that, isn't it?"

"I'm not at liberty to divulge that information."

"Don't you trust me?" he asked.

"Without question. But there's such a thing as family loyalty, and with all due respect, Larry Son of Evil, it's none of your business."

"Would you still go out with me if I were..."

"Are you?" Angelina demanded.

"Not that I know of."

"I have to say, yes. It might complicate things, though."

"Well, then, we just wouldn't let it."

"I know I wouldn't," she said confidently. "How about you?"

"Huh?"

"If I was a mutant, would you still want to hang around with me?"

Larry changed the subject. He was ashamed of it later, but he realized that he wouldn't be able to give her any answer that would satisfy her.


	22. Unveiling

Chapter 21: Unveiling

"This is Angelina," Larry said importantly. Gesturing at the tall, gray-haired man with the walrus mustache and the energetic-looking woman in the navy business suit, "The honorable Harold Chalmers and Alison Chalmers, my gracious hosts."

"How do you do," said Judge Chalmers formally.

"Charmed," Angelina replied, shaking his hand.

"We've heard a lot about you," Alison added.

Larry's sister, who had just bounced down the stairs, stopped midway through the second verse of the 'N Sync song she was singing to herself. "So _you're_ the chick he's been talking about so much?" she asked, wrinkling her petite nose.

"Guilty." Angelina waved. "Hi."

"Don't you two have homework?" Alison asked. 

"Angelina's going to help me," Larry explained. "She just couldn't come over until after dinner." He pointed at the door. "Upstairs?"

She nodded. "They seemed nice," she said once they were safely in his room, the door barred against Tanya's endless "Oooooh."

"They are, most of the time, even though he acts like he never said 'case dismissed.'"

"Ouch. So, how about those recursive functions?" She unzipped her bag.

"Recursive _quadratic_ functions," he corrected her. 

"The operative syllable being 'curse.'"

"And 'funk.'"

"As in getting jiggy with it?" she inquired, confused.

"No, as in what you get into when you have to do stupid math problems. I don't get them."

"Chill, I had to do these last year. It's easier if you make a table." She showed him, explaining as she went. "Yeah, I know it's confusing. But it gets to be a reflex. All you have to do is remember that when they say f of n, they don't mean that, they mean _that_." She circled a row of numbers with her pencil.

"I still don't get it. I think the operative syllable in q_ua_dratic is 'Whaaa?'"

"They're not all quadratic." They worked until Angelina lifted her head to the sounds of someone knocking at the door. "Who is it?" she called.

"It's me, you guys!" Tanya shouted. "You'd better get down here. Dad's on TV!"

Angelina could practically see Larry counting up the days in his head. Nor did she doubt that he was glad to be distracted from recursive functions. "Come on!"

"We're here in the laboratory of federal weapons designer Bolivar Trask," the reporter with the disastrous toupee was saying, "who was all too eager to take up the task -- I'm a poet and I don't know it --"

"You're a sleazeball and you don't know it," Angelina muttered.

"-- of constructing a defense against the most recent -- and perhaps greatest -- threat to American safety."

_Oh, God, no_, she thought. _Please don't let them be talking about what I think they're talking about._

The camera had focused in on a dark-haired, intense-looking man in a lab coat, dwarfed by a draped shape at least twice his size. "Thank you," he said. "After years of research and design, I am proud and honored to unveil my creation before the eyes of those I hope to protect. Our nation -- and our world -- have only one concern at this moment: to make sure we are not invaded from within. I have two children of my own, and I want to ensure that it is them and their kind who will inherit our world and our future.

"To that end, I give you humanity's best hope against the mutant menace."

"Is he always like this?" Angelina whispered.

"Pretty much," Larry whispered back, but his eyes were fixed on the screen.

The tarp had been raised, revealing a vaguely human-shaped robot with glowing, expressionless eyes. Angelina shuddered.

"I give you... the first of the Sentinels!"

**

In the pine-panelled, windowless den of the Spencer house, three pairs of eyes had gradually turned to the occupant of the green armchair in the corner. He had looked up as soon as Trask had said, "capable of tracking down any mutant within a ten-mile radius" and had since gone very pale and was, for once, at a loss for words.

"Darling..." Charity began.

"No way this is going to fly," Darren opined. "No way."

"The guy was supposed to find a way to deal with the freaks," Stephen said in the monotone he tended to lapse into whenever he was upset. "He's got it, okay?"

"Maybe won't work out the way they wanted to," said Violet. "Maybe it's not as bad as you think."

"Listen!" Now his voice was rising. "No X-gene -- no opinion! Got it?"

Violet stared at her brother for a long moment, then burst into an uncharacteristic flood of tears. They could barely hear the phone through her sobs. After five or six rings, Charity picked it up. "Hello?" Pause. "Yes, he's here, but I'm not sure..." Pause. "Oh, you know, do you?" Pause. "Yes, I suppose you do. All right." She held out the phone. "It's Phoebe."

Realizing that his hand was shaking, Stephen accepted the phone and carried it with him upstairs. "So you saw?"

"I don't believe it. There's no way this is legal."

"That's what my dad says. You think they would have him do it if they didn't think they'd be using it?"

"Let's be logical," she said. "You let a thing like that loose and it's not just going to chase away mutants. It's going to chase away everybody. No one wants to be part of a science fiction movie come to life."

"Too late," Stephen said grimly.

"Want to come over? I know it's late, but..."

"I'll be fine."

"You sure?"

"I'm sure."

"Okay," she said, resigned. "Remember that you're not alone here."

"Got it." Saying it once had taken as much out of him as defending himself against Xavier's mental assault, but it had been worth it. "I love you, Phoebe."

She hesitated for so long that he was sure she'd hung up. "I'll see you tomorrow," she said at last. There was a click and the phone went dead.

**

_To: darkwarrior@yahoo.com_

_From: MasterOfDisaster@hotmail.com_

_Subject: the end is near_

_Dude —_

_Even though you told me, I had to see it to believe it. Those things are SCARY!_

_So, are you coming back now?_

— _Doug_

_**_

_To: MasterOfDisaster@hotmail.com_

_From: darkwarrior@yahoo.com_

_Subject: Re: the end is near_

_I already told you, I'm staying until school is out._

_It didn't really seem like it was happening until I saw it on TV. Not sure what I think now. Angelina's freaked; one of her friends is a mutant. I've met him myself, and there's nothing wrong with him that deserves to be hunted down and wiped out._

_But the thing is, I don't think I was too happy with him — Dad, I mean — even before this. I can't put my finger on it, but I wasn't even mad at you when you called him a psycho. Tells me something. I just wish I could figure out what._

— _Larry_

_**_

_To: stevie_wonder@hotmail.com_

_From: jubilee@xnet.edu_

_Subject: TAKE A WILD GUESS_

_DID YOU SEE? Of course you did. WHAT ARE YOU GOING TO DO?_

_Hint-hint from Logan that they're going to start pitting us against Sentinels in the DR. Don't even want to think about it. Kurt broke it off with Manda. Said he didn't want to put her in any danger. How are you and what's-her-name handling it? And why didn't you TELL us that you were going to school with this guy's kids?_

_Please come home._

_Love,_

_Jubes_

_**_

_To: jubilee@xnet.edu_

_From: stevie_wonder@hotmail.com_

_Subject: Re: TAKE A WILD GUESS_

_Jubes —_

_I AM home. Might come visit soon. My parents are freaked because they can't pretend everything's normal anymore, Phoebe and I are likewise scared but we don't want to stop seeing each other, and Larry and Tanya were NOT in on what their psycho dad was planning. Remember, the Sentinels haven't even been approved yet. They might just be a passing fad. Knock on wood._

_Sending good thoughts,_

_Stephen (who is, of course, able to make bad puns amidst the chaos, you being the one person who never seemed to mind them. Ack, there's another one!)_


	23. More Voices From the Past

Chapter 22: More Voices From the Past

_February 23_

_Nightmares again. Big metal robots with flashing eyes stomp through my dreams, and I'm trying to get to him but people are holding me back, saying Stay back, miss, and I'm screaming and screaming and that's when I wake up._

_But that doesn't scare me as much as the other dreams. At first they're like last year, when Xavier was screwing around with my head. Dark and I can't move and I'm terrified because in the dream I know what's going to happen just like in real life. Then the voice starts. But it's not laughing and it's not mocking me, and I recognize it, and that scares me even more._

_You were worth the wait, the voice says._

_You know that I'd never do anything like that, it says._

_You're safe with me, it says._

_I tell myself it's backlash from the blowout with Joanne, but that's becoming pretty hard to do._

_Must not mention any of this to Stephen. Must not mention any of this to anybody._

**

After spending most of the afternoon in the library basement (the amount of time she spent there had once caused Angelina to refer to her as the Mysterious Vault Keeper), Phoebe was glad to be seeing sunlight again. It was shining through the high windows for what felt like the first time in months. No snow, sun, just a heavy soup of clouds and slush. Winter was one step closer to becoming spring, and she was glad. For the second time in the last half hour, she turned her face toward the window for a second before turning her attention to the books she was lining up on the PTA Book Club shelves, pausing every so often to scan the blurb on the back and snort under her breath.

She was just about to place a stack of ten copies on the shelf when someone tapped her shoulder. "That one's off the list," Al Kessler, another apprentice librarian, told her.

She held up the paper. "No, it's not. See?"

"They just voted this week to take it off. Want to guess why?"

"Not really."

"Well, look at it. No, read the _back_. What's it about?"

Phoebe obliged. "This girl gets into middle school, and her friend's gotten herself a whole new wardrobe and makeup and a whole new bunch of friends. And the first girl" — she checked the blurb on the back again — "Irene, her name is, is just as freaky as ever, and she feel's left out of Jenny's crowd. That's the friend's name."

"Uh-huh." Al was nodding his head. "And does Irene change her mind at the end? Does she discover that growing up and fitting in aren't so bad after all?"

"How should I know? I haven't read it."

"Me neither."

"I'm glad. I would have started to wonder if all those rumors about you were true." Even though he bore no facial reaction whatsoever, she immediately regretted her remark. Librarian wasn't considered a very masculine job, and more than one of Phoebe's classmates who'd come looking for research material had asked her if she "thought that guy with the glasses was a faggot." She would have loved to tell them where to go, but didn't know how well that would go over with her boss. She didn't even tell them it was none of their business, although she did say that she had no idea because it wasn't any of hers. Nor did she mention his almost-fiancee over at Teakwood Academy, where he was in his last year. He was completely free from gossip there; it was only when he cold, cruel world beyond that he was under fire simply for holding a job that was different from what was expected. All things considered, Phoebe could chalk up one more reason to believe that Xavier was full of it.

She was glad that Al had someone, though, and glad to be able to spend time with a guy her age whom she _knew_ wasn't interested in her romantically, even if he was her type, which he wasn't.

"Anyway," he was saying, "I know the story behind it. They've decided that this book encourages kids to side with freaks, and might get them to side —"

"With mutants." The room had just gotten much colder, and she didn't think it had much to do with the ancient heater. "That's ridiculous."

"I guess maybe it is, but you can see why it might scare people."

"You're kidding."

"I mean, read it for yourself. All the way through, Irene's wondering what the point is in being just like everyone else, it doesn't matter what they think of you, and look at this here, about how she promises herself that she's going to learn to develop her own 'talents'…"

"I can't believe I'm hearing this from you." Phoebe shook her head. "Is there, like, a hidden camera around here? Or am I really hearing you supporting censorship?"

"Jesus, Phoebe, don't play the censorship card. That's not what this is. They're not taking the book off the shelf or keeping it from being sold, they're just taking it out of the book club. The kids don't even know what's on the list yet, so they won't miss it."

She was just about to reply when a familiar voice cut in with, "Excuse me, could one of you help us? Elaine has a report coming up — on the Middle Ages, right, Elaine?"

A _very_ familiar voice. Phoebe looked up from where she was kneeling on the floor, only to find herself staring into Jasmine's green eyes.

Elaine, who was a grade ahead of Violet, stood with her arms folded, looking purely pissed that her sister hadn't let her speak for herself.

"Sure," said Al. "This way, Elaine." He led her toward the section labeled Intermediate Biography, leaving the two older girls behind in a silence so awkward that Phoebe wondered why it didn't fall over.

"Hey," Jasmine said at last. When Phoebe didn't answer, "What's up?"

_I should be mad at her. Shouldn't I? She was the one who didn't want to be friends with me anymore, right? She was the one who dissed me, right? _"Nothing really." _How exactly did she diss me again?_ "Um, how are things going with Kevin?" Used to be, once you turned the subject to Jasmine's boyfriend, there was no shutting her up.

"Fine." Silence again. "Are you and Stephen still…"

"Yes. I hope that means you're not going to rat us out to the Friends of Humanity." 

Jasmine's eyes widened. "That's not fair."

"Well?"

"I never planned to say anything. This is just Jeff's new excuse to beat people up. It doesn't have anything to do with me."

Phoebe blinked. "What?"

"Kevin says that if they ever get to doing anything extreme, like the stuff that's on TV, we're leaving." She shuddered. "Personally, I think that attacking some kid who wore sunglasses on a cloudy day is pretty extreme, but that's just me. Most of the girls in the group are part of it because they're dating someone who is."

That was, quite possibly, one of the most frightening things that Phoebe had ever heard. "Let me guess, you thought you could just sit there next to Kevin and watch the big strong defenders of the human race make their plans, and never think that they'd expect you to be part of it?"

Jasmine flushed. "I can't believe I'm hearing this. Are you one of us?"

"God forbid."

"Then don't pass judgment, okay? I don't have to be part of anything I don't want to. Even if I'm not one of them like Kevin is, I do support them." 

"But don't you know what you're supporting?"

"The lynchings?" Jasmine shook her head rapidly. "That's nothing to do with me."

"You keep saying that!" Phoebe hissed. "What you're doing, it's like saying that you're okay with that!"

"Oh, look who knows so much, just because she used to go out with one of them. You were afraid to join in the fight because of that whole thing with Stephen. I understand that. But now you and he aren't together anymore. You've decided to stick with your own kind.

_Not everyone does things based on what their significant others decide. This is the twenty-first century. Welcome to the twentieth._ "I don't know about Stephen. I really don't. But this is about you. This is about me not losing any more friends to any more stupid causes." She picked up some more books. "Now I _really_ have to get back to work."

As she shelved, she thought about the question she'd asked herself not too long ago: if Stephen hadn't turned out to be a mutant, what side would she have taken? Would she have joined the Friends of Humanity? She'd had the opportunity, after she thought that he'd betrayed her, when she was angry and confused and still blaming the tangled knot of her own past for the situation she was in now. 

Or was she still doing that?

Even if she and Jasmine reached some kind of understanding, they could never be _friends_ like they had once been? She searched for her image of the two of them as they had once been, giggling about Kevin and Reese, the guys of their respective dreams. Doing all the stupid girly-girl things, nail polish and shopping and prank phone calls, taking turns trying to coax Isobel out of her shell. Hanging out with "the boys" at the lake. All that had been the best times of Phoebe's life. And this stupid war had torn it apart.

She had never realized before now how much she hated to see things change. But not nearly as much as she hated realizing that things had _already_ changed, and she wasn't sure when.

She was sure of one thing, though. Her decision to support the downtrodden, the mutants, had been hers alone. The decision not to switch sides was as much her own as it had been in the beginning.

_"Are you okay?"_

_"Bad dreams."_

_"I feel you there. Even Larry thinks it's pretty extreme. There's no telling what might change his mind, but for now, both of them are still on our side."_

_"There's going to be more debates about whether they should let those things loose. I don't see why they even bother."_

_"Your family...?"_

_"They're worried I'm going to ditch them — like Kurt ditched Amanda, I guess."_

_"They're not going to send you back to that place, are they?"_

_"How did you know that's what they were thinking?"_

_"Lucky guess."_

_"But you're not."_

_"No. I'm not. Not yet."_

She'd been relieved, but she'd sensed a note of reluctance in his voice, the same wistful tone that she recognized from his stories of life at the Institute. She never minded hearing them. She thought that his friends sounded like great people. And she felt guilty letting the fears induced by her nightmares spill over into the waking world, or even thinking, _This is his world, and I don't belong in it._


	24. Something Strong and True

Chapter 23: Something Strong and True   
  
_   
  
February 24   
  
  
  
Still no news on the Sentinel front. Turn on the TV and all you see are human-rights debates, disturbing-the-peace debates, who-else-they-might-trample-by-mistake debates. There are a few sensible people who say that mutants are just people who want to live their lives like everyone else and no way do they deserve to have giant robots sent after them. Then there are others who think that it should just be the dangerous ones who are targets of the Sentinels, and still others who say that the only good mutie's a dead mutie.   
  
  
  
I think I believed Larry when he said that he didn't know what his dad was planning. Whatever else might be going on, it doesn't look like he's going anywhere. Angelina's psyched; I've never seen her this happy about anything.   
  
  
  
Whatever the spring musical is, I'm thinking of just trying out for a part in the chorus. Maybe I shouldn't be thinking of a silly school play right now, but I'm trying my best to keep living my life. I don't really have a choice.   
  
  
  
_**   
  
  
  
Horror-movie marathons had been a mutual tradition since the memorable Halloween night back in eighth grade. You needed to have someone to sit close to, to grab during the scary parts, to let you know that of course it wasn't stupid that you were frightened. They were there, they were scared right along with you. It was natural to be afraid of the slimy monsters that crawled out of the swamp, the ghosts that possessed innocent schoolchildren, the mummies that wanted to bring their girlfriends back from the dead.   
  
  
  
Is this the one with the flesh-eating scarabs? Stephen whispered at one point. They had gotten together completely on impulse, school night or no.   
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
I don't like things that eat flesh.   
  
  
  
Don't blame you.   
  
  
  
They huddled at one end of the couch under the bright orange-and-green afghan. The remains of their takeout from the Jade Lantern littered the coffee table, as well as the broken shells of two fortune cookies (one had informed Phoebe that she was generous in spirit, the other had cautioned, You will soon come to a crossroads.) For better or for worse, the Sentinels had not been mentioned again, although the continuing threat hung between them like a dense fog.   
  
  
  
_Please oh please. Can't we have a normal evening just this once? No dumb jokes, no worries, just me, my closest friend slash true l-u-v, and a bazillion-year-old Egyptian corpse.   
  
_   
  
Long after the fourth monster movie had ended, and the sky outside was totally black with the heavy jittery feeling of a late, late night, the two of them were still on the couch, knowing only with a small corner of their minds that they weren't alone in the house.   
  
  
  
I can't believe everyone's already talking about graduation, Phoebe murmured.   
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
Remember when we graduated from eighth grade?   
  
  
  
Do I ever! I was your escort, remember? You were wearing that white dress with the embroidery. You looked like a druidess.   
  
  
  
And all the other girls were dressed like it was prom night, Phoebe recalled. We had to sing I Get By With a Little Help From My Friends' but they wouldn't let us do the I-get-high part. Miss Allen sang louder than any of us, as usual.   
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
Uh-huh. What got me was the way everyone kept saying that that was the when we'd be going our separate ways.   
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
she agreed. I see people walking around our school now that I've known since kindergarten. Some of them still remember how I jumped out the window in fourth grade.   
  
  
  
Did you?   
  
  
  
Only because Norman dared me to.   
  
  
  
And what about how they claimed we would want to keep those memories forever? I don't know what they were smoking. I sure didn't want to remember anything about elementary school.   
  
  
  
Me neither. What about high school? I'll be glad to get out of there. At least when I get to college, I can make friends based on who I like instead of who I'll look good with.   
  
  
  
he repeated, like he'd never heard the word before.   
  
  
  
Aren't you going?   
  
  
  
Yeah. I was thinking of getting a job at the radio station over the summer. It's my latest, what-do-you-call-it, career aspiration. I could have my own show.   
  
  
  
Right away? she asked disbelievingly.   
  
  
  
Or eventually.   
  
  
  
That I have to see. Or hear. Whatever.   
  
  
  
So there's nothing you'd like to forget about high school?   
  
  
  
What good would it do? she asked. Just because I forgot it wouldn't mean that it didn't happen. There are a lot of things that if I could go back and change them, I would. But I can't, so I just want to leave it all behind. It's unreal that we'll be able to do that soon.   
  
  
  
And what about the two of us? Phoebe didn't answer, and Stephen realized that she was shaking as he held her. "What's wrong?"   
  
  
  
"I don't know."   
  
  
  
"Make a stab at it."   
  
  
  
"I don't know," she repeated. "It just feels like the whole world is holding its breath right now. It's been that way for the last couple of weeks. I don't even know how to answer your question. I mean, would I be saying what I really felt, or what I think should happen? And why should there be a difference?"   
  
  
  
"There doesn't have to be a difference. But how do you feel?"   
  
  
  
I'm here, aren't I? And that was pretty much it. When they were together, when they were talking or when he was holding her like this, it felt _right _. And it felt even more right when he started kissing her. _I never thought it would come to this, never thought it would be like thisafter everything   
  
_   
  
You were worth the wait, Stephen told her, more emotions than words. Dizzy with contentment and excitement, he was overcome by the need to open his mind and feel what she felt. For starters. Then they'd see. Her fierce love and desire matched his own, and the terror that had gripped her over the past year was matched only by how much she'd missed him. When she realized that her thoughts were being spied on, she tensed and pulled back, clouded by fear and panic.   
  
  
  
_(this is wrong too not cruel and scary but still wrong you can't let him inside your head you can't that's how they know how to hurt you)   
  
_   
  
Aloud she demanded, "What are you doing?"   
  
  
  
"I'm sorry," he said sheepishly. "I didn't mean to"   
  
  
  
"It's okay. You just startled me."   
  
  
  
"I know." She felt rather than heard him say, Don't be scared.   
  
  
  
"I'm not. Not of you."   
  
  
  
"You don't have to be scared of anything."   
  
  
  
"I can't help it," she said. "It's not you, you know that? I don't even think it's Xavier," she added as he opened his mouth to make that very guess. He shouldn't have been surprised at that; her intuition should have stopped being so shocking to him but somehow hadn't. "But this whole telepathy thing frightens the piss out of me, Stephen. It always has, even when I try to pretend it doesn't. I guess you know that. So, no more. Please. At least not yet."   
  
  
  
"Okay." And so she wouldn't think he was mad at her, he added, "Whatever you say, milady." He leaned over and kissed her again, trying to hide his disappointment. He tried to concentrate on the fact that although she was damaged, she was mending, that she was here, and wonderful, and his, his at last.   
  
  
  
A/N: Just as I was putting the finishing touches on this chapter, "The Search is Over" by Survivor came on the radio. I love that song, and I think it perfectly describes Stephen's feelings about Phoebe. Stay tuned for more chapters! 


	25. Invitations and Incitements

Chapter 24: Invitations and Incitements

_To: angelface@hotmail.com_

_From: scorlisle@snet.net_

_Subject: This weekend?_

_Angel —_

Suppose that you and Phoebe came up here for the long weekend? You can take the ferry if it doesn't snow. Marianne and I would love to see you.

_Answer soon. Or, better yet, call._

_Love,_

_Dad_

**

_February 25_

_When my shift ended, I didn't leave right away. I went to Mrs. Lancaster and asked her about the book-club thing. She's like your stereotypical head librarian: gray-haired, nice but — I thought up until now — not someone you'd want to cross. Apparently, I was wrong._

_Mrs. L: "I don't like it anymore than you do, Phoebe, but the middle-school book club is connected to the school board and the PTA."_

_Me: "Meaning?"_

_Mrs. L: "That they make the decisions. Not me. If it were a classic, something worthwhile, or if they were making us take it off the shelves permanently…"_

_Me: "I don't think it's going to stop here."_

_Mrs. L: "But this is where it is now. I think the situation is absolutely ridiculous." Now she sounded more like I'd always expected her to sound in situations like this. "Ridiculous," she said again. "But I believe that you're right, and we're going to have other battles worth fighting. Remember the whole controversy about Little Red Riding Hood?"_

_I did._

_"We need to save our energy to fight people who are actually trying to keep books out of schools and libraries. Children can still come here and pick this one up whenever they want." She frowned suddenly. "Have you read it, incidentally?"_

_I said I hadn't._

_She told me that until I knew what I was talking about, I didn't have a case anyway. "Read the book first." She tapped her pencil on the table with each word. "I beg of you." That made me smile. "I remember that speech you gave last fall, missy. I don't look down on you for standing on the side of — I guess you call them the underdogs? And I'm sure that the likes of Charles Xavier would be very proud of you."_

_I gave a snort that I quickly turned into a cough._

_"But you might need to learn to pick your battles. Now, would you like to check out a copy of the book, or not?"_

_I said I would._

_I called Margali when I got home, and told her everything that had happened. I made a promise to myself that I wasn't going to become dependent on her, and now look at me._

_Although I guess, when you think about it, who else am I going to talk to?_

_She listened patiently, which I guess is her job. She agreed with me that I should do something about the book controversy. (Unlike Mrs. Lancaster, she didn't bring up Xavier. I know this may sound crazy, but sometimes I think she knows more than I've told her, more than she lets on. A lot more.) She thinks I should write a letter to the Wallglass Messenger, emphasizing where "cases" (she used that word too) like this could lead._

_Need to learn how to pick my battles?_

_She has no idea._

_**_

_Part of me wants to jump for joy at Daddy's invitation. No jealousy here that he wrote to Angel and not me; knowing him, he probably flipped a coin. Nothing I'd like more than to chill with him and Marianne for a weekend. She's great for him, by the way. Divorced, works for an ad agency, totally level-headed, not the type of person you'd think of putting a curse on her ex-husband when he cheated on her. Even though I'm not sure whether I believe that part. Angelina, of course, believed every word._

_Speaking of parents and their significant others, Leon came over for dinner last night. This is the second time I've really met him, although I've been in the store a bunch of times. He's still kind of smarmy, and still uses the word "righteous" a little too much, and still isn't fooling anyone with that comb-over, but we actually had a pretty decent time. He's a very good Scrabble player and beat Joanne by about a million points when he used all his letters to make "mollusk."_

_That doesn't mean he hasn't stopped getting on my nerves._

_Joanne, surprisingly, thinks that visiting Dad would be a great idea. Maybe she thinks I'll meet some nice, normal Long Island boy and fall desperately in love?_

_**_

_February 26_

_Stephen and I are in my backyard, and I'm watering the forsythia bushes for some reason. I finally put the watering can down and tell him about the nightmares I've been having._

_Stephen: "So you're scared of me?"_

_Me: "I didn't say that."_

_He says I don't need to say it. He says he can tell._

_Me: "I'm not scared of you. They're just dreams."_

_Stephen: "That's right. Just dreams."_

_And it's okay, I think, everything's all right._

_"So what scared you so much?" says he._

_Me: "I already told you…"_

_"Was it this?" he asks, and suddenly I'm walking backwards until I get all tangled up in the forsythia branches. I try to get loose, and my arms and legs won't obey me. I scream, "Stop it!"_

_"Or this?" Now he's smiling, and it feels like a shovel digging through my brain, throwing aside dirt and prying up rocks, and he's smiling wider at what he sees and I'm shouting "Stop it, you're hurting me, stop!"_

_"Or this?" and I can't move and I'm still trapped in those damn bushes. I can't move, but I can feel still, and it all feels so real. "This is what I did to Jeff and his friends," Stephen says, walking toward me. He looks just the same. He's even wearing the shirt that I gave him for Valentine's Day. "Or are you scared that I'll wipe out your memories? I can do that, too, you know. Or I could make you so loyal to me that you'd follow me off the end of a cliff. Xavier taught me to do all those things." Another smile, and it's not filled with evil and malice or anything like that, it's the way he smiled when I told him how much I liked my present. "Or I could just let you go. 'Cause I don't want to hurt you."_

_I can't even say anything._

_"I love you, Phoebe," he says. "Don't ever try to push me away. Please. You're all I have."_

_And that, of course, is when I wake up._

_Please tell me I'm reading too much into this._


	26. Trouble in Paradise

Chapter 25: Trouble in Paradise

Mr. Caisson moved up and down the aisles, licking the tip of his finger to separate each sheet of paper from the rest of the stack. "Very good, Trish," he murmured as her passed by her desk. "Brian, I hope you got clearance from Mrs. Germaine before you hid out in the girls' bathroom." Everyone laughed. "Angelina." He laid her finished essay on the desk with a flourish. "Nicely done."

Angelina could feel herself turning pink.

"I saw that," he teased, then lowered his voice. "I can see how your fear of getting caught might have actually made the subject matter stronger."

He had absolutely no idea. "Thank you. And you didn't have to even look for me in the gutter."

"You're welcome." He proceeded to the next desk. "Roger, I didn't mean you should actually _dress_ like an FBI agent…"

**

"So what do you think of them class polls we have to fill out?" Haley asked, brandishing hers. They were in fourth-period study hall together, and the euphoria that had came with the A-plus on her "undercover report" still had yet to wear off.

"I haven't even looked at mine, are you kidding?"

"Most likely to succeed. Who's our most likely to succeed?"

"Haley, why do you even care about this? You're not exactly…"

"A social animal?" the other girl finished. She shook her head, swinging her beaded dreadlocks. "It's just for a laugh. I wanna see how much I really know the people I've been going to school with for three years."

"Fair enough."

"So, who do you think is most likely to succeed?"

Angelina scanned the cafeteria. "Um… Rosemary Wyngarde."

"You sure?"

"Definitely. Last year I probably would have said Jasmine Shelley, but I think we should put her down for 'Most Changed.' I mean, when we started school, she was, like, Little Miss Extracurricular Everything, and look at her now."

"Now she's hanging with Karen and Cindy and Jeff and Kevin and all that crazy crowd. See? This is fun. Who's Least Changed?"

They glanced at each other. "Jeff Price," they said at the same time. "Score," Haley added. "I don't think we'll have any arguments there. I went to elementary school with that kid, and he makes me wanna tear his throat out sometimes. The girl that's least changed… I'll think on that one. Cindy Stepford, maybe."

"Are you putting yourself down for Class Vocalist?"

"I don't want to vote for myself."

"The whole thing's anonymous," Angelina reminded her.

"Still. I'll put your sister down on the girls' side, and on the guys', I think maybe Reese Levine. The Screaming Civilians guy, or one of them, anyway. I don't know why they call themselves that. They play touchy-feely Savage-Garden-type music.* They don't scream."

"It's like in those movies."

"What movies?"

"You know," Angelina explained. "When Godzilla's stomping around Tokyo, or the aliens are landing, and all the people who aren't part of the action are running around screaming."

"Right, and then they get their memories erased."

For some reason, Angelina felt the hairs stand up on the back of her neck at that. "Right," she agreed.

"I'm familiar with the _concept_, girl. But it still doesn't explain anything. They. Don't. Scream. Now, if we started a band, we'd call it something cool, right?"

"I don't sing. I don't play anything."

"You could learn."

"Forget it. Okay, um, Couple Most Likely to Get Married. Kevin and Jasmine."

"Yeah. Most Unlikely Couple. You and Larry What's-His-Name."

"Trask."

"The Sentinel maker's kid."

"He's not just that," Angelina said, slightly offended.

"I don't know. I really don't. He seems cool, but does he hate on mutants all the time like his dad?"

"Not that I know of." True, he'd been weirdly resistant to the idea of spending another evening out with Phoebe and Stephen, but maybe he just really, really didn't like double dates. Angelina wasn't crazy about them herself, and had only suggested it because they'd had so much fun at the dance before all hell had broken loose. "I think you're the only one in, like, the entire class who hasn't taken some kind of side in this."

Haley laughed. "Could be."

"How do you do it?"

"The Goddess loves all her creatures."

"Riiiight."

"I'm so serious," Haley said defensively. "You should come to a circle sometime. It'd do you good."

Very few people had known that Haley practiced Wicca until she and Trish had gotten caught trying to recruit on school grounds. Angelina had wanted to write an editorial about it, but chickened out at the last moment — the last time she'd ever done that with anything she was planning to write. Haley had appreciated the thought, though, and the two had been best friends ever since, even though Trish now walked the straight and narrow and pretended it had never been anything different. "Maybe. Just don't try to convert me or sacrifice me to the dark spirits or anything like that."

Haley's face darkened. "You sound like my mom. I thought that telling her would make some kind of trust bonding thing between us, but now she's all convinced I worship the devil. And as for converting you, I already got you saying, 'Oh my Goddess,' Don't I?"

"Damn."

**

Working as a counter-girl at the impoverished local video store wasn't the most fun job in the world, but hey, a girl needed gift money. And date money. So what if Mr. Landry saw the world as his own personal golf course? At least he kept people on even if they wouldn't watch him practice his killer swing out back.

She answered the phone on the counter almost before it had finished the first ring. "Video Bullseye, _hel_-lo."

"Uh, hi," said a male voice on the other end.

Angelina sighed. "For the last time, Jake, that movie isn't in our adult section. As a matter of fact, if we even _have_ an adult section, they keep it well-hidden."

"No, I was going to ask you if you have that one with those mutants who turn on their creators and then attack San Francisco."

Angelina covered her eyes. "That doesn't give me much to go on," she said as patiently as she could, then rattled off a list of titles.

"That last one!" Jake said eagerly.

"It's here. Do you want us to hold it for you?"

"Yuh-huh."

"Okay. Can you come and pick it up today?"

"Yuh-huh."

She hung up with another sigh. Mutant-related movies had been in high demand lately; she wasn't sureexactly why this was. People had, after all, been living with the real thing for quite some time now. Maybe they were looking to the bad films of the past for how to deal with the present "threat."

She remembered telling Larry that whatever he chose, to go or stay, it would be all right. Now she smiled bitterly (if that was possible), remembering how Phoebe had said the same thing to Stephen over a year ago. And look how that had turned out. Yeah, they had ended up together, but it was way too angsty for belief. Weren't romantic relationships supposed to make people happy? Why -- why, why, _why_ -- were they letting one little detail make so much difference? Angelina had never understood that, and she never would.

When you were suddenly sharing the planet with mutants, you could either join the hate groups or you could try to keep focusing on your own future as if you actually had one that didn't involve killing what possibly threatened it. Angelina intended to do exactly that. She had her career as a famous writer or a famous journalist to think about, college to think about, _getting the hell out of Wallglass_ to think about.

Of course, you could always let all of this chaos destroy you, like it had come so close to destroying Phoebe.

She had yet to find out that there was little need for the past tense.

**

A slice of golden light from the hall illuminated Phoebe's rigid face. Her eyes stared at the ceiling, but didn't seem to be seeing a thing. Angelina stepped further into the room. "You okay?" she asked softly.

No answer.

"Babes? Phoebe? Are you okay?"

Still no answer. Finally, a thin voice came from the direction of the bed: "How'd you know?"

"How'd I know what?"

"I didn't make any noise."

"Twin thing?" Angelina suggested. "Actually, you were making a fair amount of noise. And I was still up. Did you have another nightmare?"

"What were you doing still up?"

Angelina realized that she was sick and tired of her sister's patented ability to avoid questions and situations she didn't like. She flipped on the light.

Phoebe sat up in bed, flinging one arm across her face. "Hey!"

"Tell me what's up."

Phoebe glared at her. "People are thinking of sending death machines after my boyfriend. I think I have the right to be a little freaked out. Good night, Angel."

Angelina found her face softening despite herself. "Is that it?"

"Yes. No. Sort of. Can we talk about this tomorrow?"

"Tomorrow we're going to be working on convincing Joanne to let us spend the weekend on Long Gyland with Daddy and Marianne. Tonight we're going to talk about this."

Phoebe just stared at her. Then, "Close the door."

Angelina obliged. Collapsing into the desk chair, she invited, "Shoot."

"Okay." A couple of deep breaths. "Okay. I've been having these… dreams. About Stephen."

Angelina snickered despite herself. "Yeah, I bet he's having some dreams about you, too," she said.

"_Angel_. Don't be gross." There was a long silence, then Phoebe whispered, "I just feel like I don't know him anymore, sometimes." And then she didn't say anything else, but Angelina could tell from the way her shoulders were shaking under the blanket that she was crying.

*A/N: Not that I, the author, have anything against Savage Garden, as those who read my latest Lance/Kitty songfic know well. :)

Speaking of knowing things, I know most of what I know about Wicca from listening to bits and pieces from my friends, and, of course, from reading the _Sweep_ series by Cate Tiernan. Better than candy, those books. Anywho, I'm now on Christmas break, so even though I have homework (_honestly_), you'll see many more chapters from me. Please review!


	27. Over The Edge

Chapter 26: Over The Edge

On Thursday, Stephen accosted Phoebe on her way to health class, which she was pulling good grades in despite the fact that she viewed it as a total farce. "Hey."

She looked up, startled, and a fragment of a nightmare from a couple of nights ago floated up unexpectedly in his mind. He'd been having a lot of those lately, mostly starring his friends from the Institute and a platoon of big ugly Sentinels. But this moment conjured up an image of Phoebe's terrified face, surrounded, strangely, by yellow flowers. Then her expression unclenched. "Hi."

"Want to catch a movie tomorrow?"

"I have to work tomorrow."

"Me, too. But not for long, I hope." He held up crossed fingers.

"Then sure. What movie?"

"What looks good?"

"How about that romantic-comedy-type thing… I forget what it's called, but Johnny Depp is in it."

Stephen stared at her. "No aliens? No car chases?"

"Not a one. Sorry to disappoint you."

"I'll live."

"It's either that or something with subtitles or a pathetic Disney wannabe or another teen-slasher-type thing, and I've been in the mood for something chick-flicky."

"Definitely the chick flick, then."

"Rather than the teen slasher thing?"

"I hate those."

"With a passion. Right, I forgot."

"I…" Stephen paused, swallowed. "I'll miss you this weekend."

"You're so sweet. I'll miss you, too. Maybe sometime you could come with us."

"You're right. I don't think we've done the meet-the-worried-dad thing yet."

"I've told him a lot about you," Phoebe said. "He approves."

"Exactly how _much_ have you told him?" Stephen asked, frowning.

"Not that. Not yet. You'd like Marianne, too — she's the one who says she put a curse on her ex-husband."

"Is she a witch like Angelina's friend?"

"Nah, it was just a one-time thing. I wish it could be this weekend, but he hasn't seen Angel and me in a long time. Soon, though. Promise."

**

The next afternoon, Stephen watched with mild interest as the scenery was moved around. The cast would be rehearsing the whole night through, something he had picked up not from talking to them, or even from reading their minds, but from the fact that a small group of them had been complaining about it all afternoon.

"Writer's kid, go over these lines with me?"

Not a few of them still called him that, or referred to him privately as an anonymous "one of the stagehands." And this was Bert, whose character had just been mysteriously resurrected from the dead, and who wouldn't let anyone else in the _Nebula Vista_ "family" forget it. "Sure."

"Okay, I'm John — obviously — which makes you Sonya."

"Sonya's a girl?" Stephen said brilliantly as he accepted the script.

"Of course. Now, you think I've died in the plane crash, so you're completely shocked to see me again. Ready? Here we go." He lowered his voice about ten octaves deeper than seemed humanly possible. "'Surprise, my beautiful flower.'"

Stephen, who had hoped never to be called "beautiful flower" by anyone (especially not anyone with this much hair grease), sighed and scanned the page. "John? But I saw everything on TV. The wreckage. Everything.'"

"A little more emotion, writer's kid. I need to get into the _mood_. 'So you did.'"

"Do I have to talk falsetto, too?"

"Very funny," Bert said flatly. "Read."

"Okay. Um. 'Then… you're dead!'"

"'I guess not.'"

"'What... how did you survive?'"

"Better, kid, better. 'At the last second, someone handed me a parachute and pushed me out. I don't know who it was. There was too much smoke. But I'm here now, and that's all that matters.'"

"Um… 'Yes, that's all that…" Stephen's eyes traveled down the page. "'That's all that…'" His eyes locked on a particular stage direction. _Oh, no!_

Bert had noticed it, too. "We can skip the kiss, if you want."

"Of course I want," Stephen grumbled.

"Well, I had no way of knowing."

_Please don't say it, please don't say it…_

"Okay. Next scene, which is… later."

"It doesn't say 'John' anywhere on this page," Stephen pointed out.

"I know. Greg is John's identical twin brother. I'm playing both parts."

Two minutes into his, er, role as a schizophrenic cult leader, Stephen's mantra changed to, _Get me out of here, get me out of here_… He began counting the minutes.

**

Surprisingly, both of them had a very good time at the movie. Watching the two main characters viciously deny their mutual attraction while moaning about it to their respective co-workers did have some sort of spirit-lifting effect By the time they exited the theater, they were feeling considerably more lighthearted.

"It's only for one weekend," Phoebe said for at least the tenth time. They were parked at the end of Melon Drive, and she could see the outlines of several other cars in shadows.

"Who are you trying to convince?"

"I don't know," she said. "A lot can happen in one weekend."

"We'll both be fine."

"I hope so."

She pulled her light jacket more closely around her. The days were definitely warming up, but the nights had stayed chilly. The heater, which still clunked despite Darren's many attempts to take it to be fixed, was blowing out lukewarm air. Stephen loved the little line that appeared between her eyebrows when she worried, loved the way her hair pulled back from her face; he loved how easily she smoothed things over. Without even trying, though, he could sense her indecision and fear about… what? He rubbed one finger lightly across the back of her hand, which lay between the seats, bare, with iridescent polish on the nails. "Hey, what is it this time?"

"Nothing."

"It lies to us," he said in his best Gollum voice. "Oh, how it lies." She still wouldn't fess up. He tried probing oh-so-lightly at the edges of her mind, but the look in her eyes forced him to abandon _that_ idea.

"You just don't _get_ it, do you?" she whispered fiercely.

"What? What don't I get?"

She started to turn away, thought better of it, and faced him. "You're my best friend," she said carefully. "And I'm come to care about you a lot. I mean… a lot more. I want to _stay_ friends. But for now, I don't think this going to work out. I'm sorry."


	28. Till You've Been Burned

Chapter 27: 'Till You've Been Burned

"I don't understand," was all Stephen could say.

Why was he making this so _difficult_ for her? "I don't know. I just think about us going on the way we've been going, and I get really scared."

"But it's been going great. Hasn't it?"

"Yes and no." Then she felt like cringing at how dumb that sounded. "It's like… it works on different levels." Worse and worse. "I could never have asked for someone better than you. You know that. But in the past year or so, things have changed. For both of us."

She could see him facing directly ahead, eyes closed. A chill ran down her spine, and she ignored it, telling herself she was being stupid and paranoid about _that_ at least. "Don't do this," he said.

"Don't do what?"

"I can't believe it. You, of all people… I can't believe it!" he repeated, almost shouting. "How could you even _think_ I'd be messing with your mind?"

"I didn't think that." The words didn't come out quite as convincing as she'd wanted them to, and they both knew it.

"Oh, yes, you did. You know that this kind of thinking is what gets people to join the Friends of Humanity, right? All of a sudden, people you've known for years can hurt you, maybe will hurt you, just because of differences they didn't even want."

"That's not fair."

"But it's true," he said in the _isn't-it-obvious_ voice she knew so well.

"Well, isn't it true that you wanted to?" She almost regretted that, but was surprised to realize that she didn't.

"Yeah, for about two seconds. What, did you think that just because it occurred to me that I _could_ meant that I _would_? God, Phoebe! I thought… I thought you'd finally accepted me for what I was."

How had they gotten to this point? "Get it through your head! I accepted what you are a long time ago and I kind of hoped we could concentrate on the rest of you." Now she was on the verge of crying. 

"That's right," Stephen snapped. "Keep looking at me like that. Because there's this huge injustice that's been done to _you_. _Your_ world came crashing down. Everyone should feel sorry for _you_ because you lost your chance to be everyone's favorite --"

"For you!" He wasn't paying any attention. "Did you come back for me? Or did you come back so you could have all the perks of the kind of life you had there -- like friends who you could trust with your secret and liked being reminded of it every twelve seconds -- and none of the responsibilities? Or so you could be something besides the kid with the weird T-shirts, even if it was just to yourself?"

"You think this is all about how people view me? Is that the only thing that's ever mattered to you? You thought everyone else saw you as this golden girl, and giving that up was some kind of huge sacrifice. Wasn't it? Just like when I left, you saw an excuse to fall apart and you took it."

"I had never had a real family!" she reminded him. "I was too scared to make any real friendships until you came along. And then you left, too!"

Stephen exploded. "Well, lah-di-freaking-da! People want me dead because of my DNA structure. But at least I can get through a day without breaking into tears because I lost some stupid high-school popularity contest!"

Phoebe didn't say anything.

"You don't know what the world is really like," he told her. "You never have. That's the trouble with you humans."

" 'You humans'?" she whispered

"You can ignore reality," Stephen went on. "You can forget about taking up for your own actions. You can spot chances to be the victim -- yeah, that's right, flinch at the word, it ties into your _trauma_, doesn't it? -- and you grab them before anyone else can. You want to survive in this new world, you have to stop being so pathetic."

"What makes you think you know everything, anyway?" She was scrambling for the handle that opened the door, her hands moving almost without her. This wasn't happening. This wasn't happening.

"Phoebe, don't —" He reached out for her.

She whipped her head around. Several locks of hair had come loose from her ponytail and hung in her face. Her eyes were bright with tears and anger. "Don't _touch_ me, you paranoid know-it-all _mutie_." The door opened. She spilled out onto the frozen ground, landing on her hands, breathing in the winter air like knives. The breaths were icy, but she was suddenly too hot under her jacket. She hadn't wanted to see the look on his face at her parting shot, hadn't wanted to know how good it would feel to see him hurt, after all the times he had hurt her. Her hands stung; her face hurt from trying not to cry. Curled on the ground with her nose between her knees, she heard the squeal of tires as the car pulled away…

… and then the sound of someone getting out of another one, footsteps on the frost-laden grass, and s voice. "Phoebe? Jesus, what happened to you?"

Jasmine stood there jacketless, her hair mussed, her shirt mis-buttoned. Her eyes practically glowed in the dark, and it was the concern on her face, rather than Stephen's harsh words (or, for that matter, her own) that finally moved Phoebe to tears. Jasmine said her name again. "Are you okay? Did you come here with Stephen?"

Phoebe didn't answer. Her teeth had started to chatter.

"Did you guys have a fight?"

Still no answer.

Jasmine sighed. Boy, had their old friend done a number on this girl. She settled for one more question. "Do you want us to take you home?"

"You and K-Kevin?"

"Uh-huh."

"I'm okay."

"Phoebe, come on —"

"I said, I'm okay." Phoebe got to her feet and stood there hugging herself for a moment. Then she began to run.

**

_February 28_

_I'm sitting on the couch, wrapped up in a blanket, watching the sky turn light outside. Angelina will be up soon, eager to load up our bags, and drive down to Bridgeport to catch the ferry. And I should be working on a way to tell her that I'm not going. That I can't go. That all I want to do is play the events of last night over and over inside my head, and wonder why several miles of water between us would be such a bad thing right now, and why I feel like this if I wanted to break up with him in the first place._


	29. Misery Loves Company

Chapter 28: Misery Loves Company

Stephen opened his eyes the morning after the blowout, wincing as if he had drunk too much the night before instead of having essentially destroyed whatever might have existed between him and the girl of his dreams. He swore out loud into his freezing room.

It wasn't like it was all my fault. She thought that I was controlling her mind. I can't believe that she'd throw that back in my face.

Angry as he had been at Xavier before, now that anger had turned into something very close to hatred. Why the hell couldn't he leave them alone? _I looked up to him once, just like the rest of them. I even wanted to be like him, so sure all the time that I was doing the right thing. Now I hate him. I hate him. And I hate her, too. She made me afraid of what I am, and I hate her for that._ The only reason he had told her the truth about the X-Men in the first place was that he'd refused, at the time, to see her as another normal human, scared of what she couldn't understand. Now he knew better.

Maybe she's right to be scared. Not just because there's no way she can know what it's really like to be a mutant unless it happens to her, but because…

No. He wouldn't let her be right. She'd been totally over the line… and the things she'd _said_…

Maybe she had a point.

No. He was pretty sure Amanda had never said anything like this to Kurt.

Kurt's not a telepath.

That didn't make any difference. It _shouldn't_ have made any difference. But the voice of his memory intruded again, more insistent this time.

Bobby and Ray used to sneak cigarettes into the mansion and smoke them in the bathroom. Xavier would ground them until hell froze over – no pun intended – if he ever caught them. They didn't know that I knew. And Kitty didn't know that I knew the dreams she sometimes had about Lance. And Scott didn't know that I knew what he had been like before Xavier founded him and molded him like modeling clay into the tough-as-nails fearless leader type. They wouldn't believe me if I told them I hadn't been snooping, that I had never had very good control and most likely never would. Probably because Jean used that excuse all the time. Let's face it: it's not just that I'm a mutant that bugs her so much, or even that I was almost a superhero. It's what I can do, what I could do to her if I lost control. He felt like an idiot for not realizing it ahead of time.

Phoebe had trusted him, but then she believed that there was no way he ever could lose control, and she would have been even more scared of him if she'd known the truth. She didn't know how close he had come to satisfying her greatest fear, any more than Bobby had known the day they had fought in the Uncommon Room. How easy it would have been to give in to his own anger, combined with the desire to _make her see it from my side make her see the truth make her stop LOOKING at me like that dammit like I'd just crawled out from under a rock…_

Maybe he shouldn't have gone off and left her, but if he had even stayed in the same general vicinity as her, he didn't know what he would have done.

Maybe he should have told her in the first place.

If he was angry at her for anything, it was for making him scared of what other people thought. Or would think. He had always hated the mask she wore when she was hanging out with Jasmine and Isobel, the way she acted like there was something wrong with him when he just wanted to be himself. Didn't she realize that he _couldn't_ worry about what other people thought now? That if he based who he was on their views of them, that would be like letting them win? 

I was right about that. Maybe I shouldn't have called her pathetic, but I was right about that one thing. Wasn't I?

I hate her for making me so confused. I hate her for fooling me into thinking she was different from everyone else. I hate her for making me believe that it was okay to love her.

**

Every corner of the room was familiar. The canopied bed. The basket chair. The bulletin board featuring prom pictures, two or three report cards, and, way in the corner, a faded picture of six teenagers with a Ferris wheel in the background. Strangers, all of them.

Cindy Stepford, a thin-faced bleach-blonde wearing a tube top despite the frost that had been on the ground that morning, straddled the desk chair from behind, blowing smoke into the room. Jasmine was perched on the bed. "So, tell us everything."

"Jasmine." From her position sprawled on the braided rug, Phoebe tried a significant look, but didn't have the heart for it.

"Okay, don't tell us everything," Jasmine said nonchalantly.

"There's nothing to tell. I've been having doubts for a long time, and when I told him, he freaked out."

"His fault if he can't take it like a man." Cindy stubbed her cigarette out in a miniature saucer on the desk and removed another one from the pack next to it. "Jazz, want one?" she asked.

"Chuck it over here."

Cindy did. "Phoebe?"

"No, thanks." To Jasmine, "I didn't know you smoked."

"Just started. Spare me the lecture, okay? Anyway, Cindy's right. He has _no right_ to call you pathetic."

"We both said some things we didn't mean."

"So?" Cindy shrugged. "You should hear what Karen called Jeff when he broke up with her."

"Were you there?"

"Yeah, he sold tickets. No, of course I wasn't there. He told me about it later. He called her a clinging bitch, and she told him what he could do to himself. Then she threw her soda into his face."

"Wasn't he, like, cheating on her with you?"

"He was planning on dumping her at the time. And he wasn't losing much, lemme tell you that. That girl spends more on plastic surgery for one month than…" She inhaled deeply. "Jazzy, what's something really expensive?"

Phoebe rolled her eyes when the other two weren't looking. Why had she agreed to come over here, anyway?

"But Stephen's losing so much by not talking to you anymore."

"What I said was pretty bad."

"What'd you say?" Cindy demanded, mascara-laden eyes widening. She verbalized a list of foul names like a sewer pipe bursting.

"Not quite," Phoebe said softly.

"Look, I don't get you. You wanted to break up with him, didn't you?"

"Yes. I mean, I think so?"

Cindy leaned forward a little more. "So was he really great in bed or something?"

Jasmine put a hand to her mouth and spoke in the voice of a shocked maiden aunt. "Cynthia Stepford!" Then she removed her hand and grinned. "Better or worse than Reese?"

Phoebe blushed. _I am so going to kill her._ "We never exactly…"

"You never _exactly_?" Cindy said scornfully. "So how far _did_ you go?"

"None of your business."

"Do you think you would've, eventually?"

"I have no idea," Phoebe admitted, and she didn't.

"So if he's paranoid and smug and plays all these head games like you guys are telling me, what was so _great_ about him?"

_He's smart and quirky and funny and sensitive. He's a good kisser and has a great smile — not an eye-candy smile, just sweet and kind of amused. He fought his own inner — and outer — demons and survived. He told me I didn't have to be afraid._ "It's… hard to describe," she said instead.

"Well, you know what we need to do now," Jasmine said decisively.

"I do?"

"We need to find you someone new."

"We do?"

"We're going to go to Dahlia's sometime soon, you're going to hear Reese play, and you're going to talk to him after. We'll dress you up all sexy."

"I'm not your new Barbie doll!" That triggered a random memory of how the two of them used to pool their Barbie collections and play wild games involving prophecies and aliens and body-switching, shrieking with laughter until Joanne or Hilda, Jasmine's stepmother, pounded at the door asking if everything was okay.

"Phoebe, listen to me." Jasmine put on her sage-advice voice. "He messed with your head. He made you think you needed him. You don't need him. He was probably using you to make himself feel like a normal guy."

Phoebe shot a nervous look at Cindy, who was hanging onto every word but didn't show any signs that she was putting two and two together. Everyone knew that Stephen had carried a reputation as an "oddball" since the beginning of high school. "He wasn't using me. I know…" She trailed off, realizing that she'd started to say, I know him better than that. But she knew how far that had gotten either of them in the past.

She knew she should have gone with Angelina.


	30. Reprieve

Chapter 29: Reprieve

The meeting place Angelina and her dad had agreed on was the fountain at the edge of the Port Jefferson parking lot. The bottom glittered with pennies, reminding her of all the coins she and Phoebe had dropped into the stone basin as they wished for lives just a little better than the ones they were leading. Then their dad would take them inside the Frigate for ice-cream cones in summer and jelly beans the rest of the time, and they would trade flavors all the way back to his house.

The drive with Joanne to the docks in Bridgeport had been uncomfortable, but not nearly as painful as Angelina had anticipated. But when she'd tried to convince Phoebe not to change her mind about going, transportation had been the furthest thing from her mind. Spending some honest-to-Goddess quality time with her sister had been pretty much the only issue. When was the last time they had done that, away from the hindrances of their respective friends or love interests? Weren't twins supposed to have that whole unbreakable-bond thing going? When had that gone wrong?

Besides, she wanted to chance to tell Phoebe in private what a world-class _idiot_ she was for picking that fight with Stephen.

"Angel!"

Simon Corlisle was striding toward her, waving. He looked exactly as she remembered, except for what a closer look revealed to be new glasses. When he crushed her against his jacket, she discovered that he smelled the same, too. "It's so good to see you," she whispered.

"You, too." He released her.

"Where's Marianne?"

"At home. Never mind that now. Where's your sister?"

Angelina swallowed. "Phoebe was feeling kind of depressed. She broke up with her boyfriend yesterday, and she didn't want to bring the rest of us down."

"Is she all right?" he asked as they walked back to his car, which, yes, was the same one she remembered. No jelly beans, but it felt surprisingly good to be his little girl again. She'd even opted for jeans that were still intact and a shirt that covered her entire upper body.

"She's fine. She and Stephen were kind of an emotional roller coaster." She moved her hand up and down in a curving motion to demonstrate, marveling at the unfair irony: Joanne, whose reaction could have powered the whole neighborhood with negative energy, knew the whole story, and their dad, who trusted his daughters' respective common sense absolutely, hadn't a clue. _Maybe I should tell him? Nah, the whole thing is Phoebe's to tell. If that, now that she and the Telepath of Least Resistance are fighting._

"What about you?"

"Am I on an emotional roller coaster? Always."

Simon laughed. "No, no. Are you dating anyone?"

"Kind of," she said in what she hoped was a secretive voice. She had promised both Larry and Phoebe that she'd call that night.

By now, they had left the harbor behind. _I remember when I was hungry when we got off the boat, but not hungry enough to get something to eat here in, um, town. I regretted it once we were in the car, though. The whole way back, all I could say was, "We should have stopped at Port Jefferson!"_

"Angel Face?" Her father's voice broke into her thoughts. He was the only one who allowed to call her that.

"Yeah?"

"I'd love to hear about him, of course — I assume he is a he?"

"Yeah. His name's Larry." Then she took the bait and asked, "Would you be okay if, you know…"

"You were dating a girl?" Simon finished for her. "This _is_ hypothetical?"

"Oh, definitely."

"Yes. I'd be okay no matter what you did, baby. Besides, I'd probably have the same reaction that other parents right now would have."

"Which is what?" she wanted to know, although she was pretty sure of the answer.

Simon grinned. "Relief that you hadn't sprouted tentacles or something, because that opens up a whole 'nother can of worms. Now, while we're on the subject of significant others…"

"Yeah?"

"I was going to wait until we got home, so we could tell you together, but you're going to find out anyway, but… Marianne and I are engaged." As her face lit up, "Don't hug me until we've pulled over! I guess I'm not going to have to give you the she's-not-trying-to-replace-your-mother speech, do I?"

"I couldn't think of a better replacement for my mother!" Angelina said emphatically. "Okay, that sounded really heartless."

"Not really," Simon said thoughtfully. "But can I ask you a question, baby?"

"Sure."

"If you and Joanne never got along, why did you spend the last ten years with her?"

Angelina thought about it. "I guess… because Phoebe wanted to make it work, and I didn't want the two of us to be separated. She helped make it better for me, anyway."

"Your sister's the champion of smoothing-over," her father commented.

"Yeah." In everyone's lives but her own. "Anyway, congratulations! Pull over soon so I _can_ hug you."

**

She dialed her home number first. Phoebe sounded out of breath and a little too eager. "Hello?"

"It's me."

"Hi! How are Dad and Marianne?"

"They're good."

"Did they understand?"

"Dad's been through the mother-in-law of all bad breakups. I think he does understand."

"So what have you guys been doing?"

"Walking around Great Neck. Nice town."

"I remember."

"Marianne made her special pasta with the pine nuts and Canadian bacon and little green things in it. You remember that, too, right? And guess what?" Angelina didn't wait for an answer, but related the news of Simon and Marianne's engagement.

"Tell them congratulations."

"I will." Angelina hesitated, then asked, "Are you okay?"

"Still pretty shaken up, but better. Jasmine and I are actually going out in a little while. You know, to take my mind off."

"Do you think it's going to work?"

"Want the honest truth?"

"Always."

"No," Phoebe said simply. "I have a lot more to think about, I think."

"Since when are you friends with Jasmine again?"

"Since I decided that I'd stopped talking to her for a stupid reason, I guess. What _did_ you tell Dad, anyway?"

"That the two of you broke up."

"Good. I think he'd be a lot more okay with the rest than Joanne was, but… I don't know, I don't think this is the best time for him to know the whole story."

_What do you know? I was right._ "Do _I_ even know the whole story?"

Long silence. "I owe you, okay?" Phoebe asked at last.

"You bet you do."

"I have to go now."

"Okay."

"I love you, Angel."

"Love you, too." She hung up, then immediately made the second call she'd been planning.

Tanya answered on the second ring. "Hi, Chalmers residence."

"Hi. Is Larry there?"

"Just a minute." There was an ear-splitting clunk as the phone was set down, then, faintly, "_Larry_! Your _girlfriend_ wants to talk to you?"

A beep signaled that Larry had picked up the extension. "Tanya, I've got it. Yeah?"

"It's me." The way her toes curled when she heard his voice surprised and somewhat worried her. "Is she off?"

"Yeah. So, how are you?"

"Fine." She curled up on the guest-room bed, which was hers whenever she stayed the night. "So, Lawrence, what are you wearing right now?"

"Briefs, flippers, and a clown nose."

She let out a loud snort. "_Pardon_?"

"The price you pay for calling me Lawrence, Angel."

_And he called _me_ Angel. I never once gave him permission to do that, but he did it. Isn't this the part where I yell at him?_ "Sorry."

"So what are _you_ wearing?" he asked once they'd both stopped laughing.

"Pajamas."

"Are you having fun?"

"Lots."

"Do you miss Wallglass?"

"Wouldn't quite go that far." It slipped out before she could bite her tongue to keep from saying it. "But I miss you."

"Miss you too."

"My dad's getting married," she blurted out next.

"Hey, that's great!"

"Yeah, it's great." So what was _wrong_?

It wasn't until much later that night, when she was sitting up in bed rereading a favorite _Anita Blake, Vampire Hunter novel_, that it hit her. She'd been wondering for the millionth time why Anita didn't just give into the realization that Richard still loved her, and that she still loved him. So he was a werewolf. He obviously couldn't help it. So she'd done something stupid by running to that sleazy vampire guy. She'd been Dazed And Confused at the time. So she didn't quite regret it… okay, that one would need some work.

And somehow Angelina had gone from thinking to these thoughts, to her long discussions with Marianne, who was a fan as well, to a realization of her own: _This is the life I could have had if I'd chosen to stay here when I was little._

Although they were miles from the ocean, she always liked to pretend to hear the surf pounding against the shore. It was what helped her sleep on restless nights. She was counting on it now.

A/N: I don't own the _Anita Blake_ series, either. I just couldn't resist the reference.

Happy X-Mas or holiday of your choice, everyone. Hope you're enjoying food, presents, and the time off from school. And remember how much this silly writer loves you all.


	31. Forgive and Forget

Chapter 30: Forgive and Forget

Jubilation Lee had her algebra book open on the bed next to her, but she wasn't really studying. She wasn't even doing much _thinking_, not that she'd had too many thoughts lately that hadn't been of impending doom. The liberals who were protesting the Sentinel initiative were fighting a losing battle, and it seemed like they were the only ones who didn't know it.

_Listen to me_, she thought. _Used to be when it came to politics, frankly, my dear, I didn't give a damn. But now I'm tuning in all the debates on the TV, trying to figure out who's going to support us based on the causes they supported in the past. Staying a step ahead of mall security on my Rollerblades used to be barely enough excitement for me. Now I'm scared to go into town to shop, or nab one of Sandwich Guy's turkey-on-a-roll concoctions. The most impulsive thing I've done in a long time was cut all my hair off. What happened to me?_

And, almost immediately, as if someone had been listening to her thoughts, _Fate happened. Evolution happened. Xavier happened_.

Someone was hammering on her door. Most likely the human Popsicle — that boy had no manners whatsoever — wanting to know if she'd like to join the others in a rousing game of Mutant Ball now that the snow had finally decided to melt somewhat. Or to try and steal homework answers from her. Arrogant and flaky as he could be sometimes, his attitude had somehow grown on her, and yes, he could be serious when he wanted (though not always when _she_ wanted). He had actually opened up a little bit to her — as one of the only New Mutants without a particularly exotic past, he had always felt it necessary to hide behind some inane "mysterious yet compelling" façade. So it was safe to say if she wasn't careful, Bobby Drake might happen to her, too. There was no romantic tension between them; they both knew that relationships had a nasty habit of crashing and burning around this place. For now, she couldn't think of anyone she'd rather kick back with after a grueling afternoon in the Danger Room (when, as soon as they were out of uniform, he could get her rolling on the floor with his imitations of Cyclops).

Actually, she amended, she _could_ think of someone else she'd rather kick back with. But that was — dramatic sigh — not meant to be.

The knock came again, more insistently. Shit. "Come in!"

It was Bobby. "We've got a visitor, dude."

"Are you calling me 'Dude'?" she asked coolly. "And do you mean us as in you and me, or…"

"Us as in you, me, and Kurt. Get down here."

_You, me, and Kurt._

No, it couldn't be.

_What do a human ice cube, a firecracker, and a blue fuzzball have in common?_

They'd corresponded ever since he'd left, but she had kind of gotten the feeling that he'd give himself up to the Friends of Humanity before he'd set foot on the grounds of the Xavier Institute again. At least, the professor had made it seem that way.

_Why did he leave?_ It'd been a little kid's question, she knew this, but she had curbed her curiosity for far too long.

_You were his friend. He said nothing to you?_

_It always felt like there was a lot he _wasn't_ saying._

_I see. There are many people who would greatly benefit from the life offered by the X-Men, but, for reasons of their own, are averse to some of our policies. The long training hours, the responsibility to the world, the exclusion of more… peripheral desires… some are suited to it, and some are not. However they decide to live their lives, no mutant should be alone. We offer peace of mind, first and foremost. The rest is up to them._

"Stephen's here?" she asked now.

"The one and only. Look a little more excited, why don't you?" he asked sarcastically as she leapt off the bed.

"How'd he get here?"

"Hitch-hiked, sounds like."

"My kind of guy."

"Come on, would you be in any danger from hitch-hiking if you could just fry the brains of anyone who picked you up?"

"True enough." She paused before passing him into the hall. "Are you still mad at him about… you know…"

"No, I don't know." Bobby scratched his head. "Mad at him about what?"

"That fight you guys had before he left."

"Fight? Oh, yeah, I guess we did fight. Nah, plenty of water under the bridge since then."

Jubilee frowned. Had Bobby responded a little too quickly? No, she realized. It had been the first time she'd even mentioned it, near as she could figure, and there _had_ been a lot of time for the aftermath of the blowout to give way to more pressing matters. Such as the fact that one of the only people who had ever understood her in this place was on their doorstep as they spoke. Trying to recover some of her customary cool, she brushed past Bobby and headed for the stairs.

**

Bobby, Kurt, and Jubilee were waiting in the foyer when the two of them took their first tentative steps inside. For a moment, no one spoke, and a feeling of déjà vu struck Stephen with a vengeance, especially when Jubilee ran toward him, then stopped a few feet short instead. Her hair was cut very close to her head; it made her face look sculpted, proud, and her eyes look very…

…blue? Stephen blinked and looked again. They _were_ blue.

"Good to see you again," Bobby said finally.

Jubilee nodded. "It really is." She hesitated, then closed the distance between them, slipping her arms around his neck.

He hugged her back. "It's good to see you, too." Then he held her at arm's length. "You lost your hair."

"I didn't _lose_ it," she corrected him. "I _cut_ it. There's a difference."

"And your eyes… did they _change_?"

"Tinted contacts. You like?"

"Sure. I almost didn't recognize you."

"I didn't recognize you, either," she said. "You're, like, taller. And cuter."

"Uh, hi," Bobby said, waving. "Remember me?"

Jubilee turned and rolled her eyes again. "As if I could forget."

"Wait, so… you and he are together now?"

"In his dreams."

"But even if we aren't," Bobby broke in, "you have that girlfriend of yours. Fifi, right?"

Stephen corrected him, trying to imagine the girl in question as a Fifi and failing miserably. "And we're not together. Not anymore."

Jubilee was about to respond to that when Kurt spoke for the first time. "Ve thought you vere gone for good. Ze professor said..."

"I remember what I said." They heard the new voice even before she speaker glided smoothly into view. "I admit that I am not always able to predict the actions of others." Did Stephen imagine the dark gleam in his eyes just then? "Welcome home, Messiah."


	32. These Two Hearts

Chapter 31: These Two Hearts

"They've totally set up battle simulations with Sentinels, like I said," Jubilee said from her position sprawled on the beanbag chair. The three of them were still talking in the Uncommon Room long after everyone else had gone to sleep. "And we're not allowed off the grounds unless there are special circumstances."

"_What_?"

"It's not as bad as she makes it sound," Kurt said quickly. "Of course ve are allowed out. But it has to be in groups. Ze professor wants us to be better safe than sorry in case they decide to start releasing ze robots unexpectedly. We're all really scared, anyvay. He's thinking of sending us all home if it doesn't fall through. Says he'd find places for those who had novere else to go. Ve vould be scattered, and it vould be easier for them to get to us, but..."

"You'd be scattered," Stephen finished for him. "Got it."

"You know me, I was always a risk taker," said Jubilee. "I'd take sticking with my family over staying safe from evil robots any day of the week." 

"Hey, Elf, have you changed your mind about Amanda?"

"It's for ze best. He thinks so, too."

"Kitty and I saw her at the mall the other day," Jubilee put in. Kurt's head shot up. "She was by herself. Didn't look too happy, either. She looked like she was scared for you."

"Ja. Right. She probably thinks zat I don't vant anything to do with her just because she's human."

"Is that true?"

"I can't have anything to do with her because she's human!" Kurt snapped. "It isn't safe. Stephen, help me here!"

"Sure. Um, how?"

"Vell, you broke up with Phoebe for ze same reason, right?" Kurt asked.

"Well, actually…"

"Yeah?" Jubilee motioned him to keep going.

"She was the one who broke up with me," Stephen said in a rush, and proceeded to recount the entire pathetic story. _Pathetic_ — there was that damn word again. "And she called me a paranoid know-it-all mutie, and then bolted," he finished.

Kurt drew back a little as if the word itself were toxic and would infect him, and Jubilee gave a low whistle of sympathy and astonishment. She had been the one who encouraged him to go after her, back when he was still making up his mind about whether he belonged at the Institute. She remembered that day clearly, too. "Wasn't she, like, one of the only people who understood?"

"If that," Stephen said glumly. "She had me completely fooled."

"I don't think she vas trying to fool you. You misjudged her." Kurt stood up. "I am going to bed. I vill see you both tomorrow." In a puff of smoke, he was gone.

Jubilee fanned the air in front of her. "He misses her," she said matter-of-factly.

"You think?" Stephen asked sarcastically.

"He thinks that if Phoebe dumped you just because you can read minds, there's no hope for someone who looks like him."

"I was thinking about that, too. But Amanda was totally okay with the way he looks, wasn't she?"

"Completely. I don't know the details of the fight exactly —"

"Wait, wait." He held up his hands. "It was a fight? I thought he just broke up with her."

Jubilee shook her head. "A fight," she confirmed. "A biggie, from the sound of it. I don't know all the details, but he said that he didn't want to put her in any danger, she accused him of treating her like a damsel in distress, he said that she didn't know what they were up against and she was living in some big romantic fantasy and true love didn't always conquer all."

"Sounds like a lot of details to me," Stephen said with a grin. "What were you, listening in the bushes?"

"I most certainly was not!" Then she paused and grinned back. "Kitty was. But it was my idea."

"Jubilation!"

She tossed her head as if to shake back her hair, then muttered, "Damn. Sometimes I forget that it isn't still long. Anyone ever tell you that you sound just like the professor when you're angry?"

"I sound like who?"

"It's no big deal," she said casually. "Scooter does it, too, sometimes. Sorry if I offended you or anything."

"No, it's okay. You want the honest truth?"

"Is it good?"

"Depends. I remember" — Stephen sighed — "I remember being kind of jealous of him." He stopped, surprised at his gumption. That was one thing he had never imagined telling _anyone_. Until lately, he had done his best to keep it from himself.

"Jealous of what?" She stared at him quizzically.

"Because he had a really good handle on this. On, you know, doing stuff to people's minds. Same with Jean. And I wasn't there yet. I _still_ don't think I'm there. I don't know what's wrong with me that I can't just accept it and move on." He paused. "Or what's wrong with her that she can't."

Jubilee was watching him closely. "What do you mean?" she asked.

"You don't want to hear this."

"Sure, I do. You'd think with Scooter moaning about Jean, and Kurt moaning about Amanda, and Jamie moaning about Kitty —"

"Jamie and _Kitty_? Isn't she, like —"

"Four years older than him, yeah. And still so _obviously_ in love with Lance that he's probably the only one in the mansion who hasn't gotten it. It's kind of sweet, actually. Anyway, with all of that going on, you'd think I'd be sick of it. But I'm not. So give."

So Stephen did. "She wants everything to be the way it was before we found out that I was a mutant. Including me. But I've changed."

"You can't go through something like this and not change," she agreed.

"Right? But she doesn't get that, because she thought I wanted it too."

"You should have told her."

"She knows. And when she realized it, she couldn't deal."

"I mean you should have told her before," Jubilee clarified.

"The last time I said something like that, she freaked out. It was when she came to visit me that time. And I guess… are you _sure_ you want to hear this?"

"Positive."

"I guess I was scared that if I told her, she wouldn't stay."

"Is it even possible that she's changed, too?"

"Yes. I know she has. Just not enough, I guess."

Jubilee let her breath out in a gusty sigh. "Wow. Looks like you've had a lot on your mind."

"Looks like."

"Can I ask you something as a friend?"

"You can ask me something as a kangaroo if it's going to help me be less confused."

"Thanks, I think. Okay. Do you think Phoebe was the right one?"

"I thought she was."

"I don't think so," Jubilee said, scrunching up her face in an unmistakable expression of _please-don't-be-mad-at-me_. "Look, I don't know her, I don't know what it was really like between you two, and I _do_ know that you've been in love with her since before I knew you, but… I don't know. When I find the right one, I'm going to feel like I can be myself with him. And I'm going to make him feel like he can be myself with me. And we're going to be so mad crazy in love with each other that stupid things like bad habits or dumb mistakes or mental powers aren't going to matter." She caught him staring. "What?"

"I thought… I mean, I thought you and Bobby…"

"Weren't you paying _attention_? Bobby and I aren't anything."

"But you could be." It wasn't a question.

"Yes. We could be. So easily. We like each other well enough, but he's so immature sometimes. I swear to God, sometimes I feel like I'm talking to my little brother."

"Do you even have a little brother?"

"No, but you know what I mean. It's like Jamie, but without the innocence and the…" She trailed off. "The trust," she said softly. "Bobby's like… it's like he has some idea of what the deal is and has decided that he's just going to leap before he looks anyway. We've had a lot of fun together, but I guess that's just not enough anymore. I thought it was."

Stephen looked at the ground again, then looked at her, then decided to ask anyway. "So, if Bobby's not the right one for you…"

"Would you just shut _up_?" she burst out. "Why do you even have to _ask_? You were the one who showed me that there was more to life than the next big thrill. You were the one who I could be myself around — do you think I even told anyone what happened to my parents before you? Do you think —" She stopped talking again, clearly as surprised as he was by this display of out-of-character behavior. "I mean… I didn't… I mean…"

"Jubes?" Stephen said quietly.

"Yeah?"

_I've made my decision. Please oh please let it be the right one._ "Remember what you just said about being able to be yourself around the right one?"

"Yeah?"

Instead of answering, he leaned forward and kissed her.

A/N: I was listening to "We Belong" by Pat Benatar somewhere during the course of this chapter. Although it doesn't exactly set the mood for this particular scene, I still think it's another great Phoebe/Stephen song.


	33. It's Been Surreal

Chapter 32: It's Been Surreal

When Stephen woke up the next morning and caught a glimpse of the familiar striped wallpaper, he became absolutely convinced that he had never left. In fact, he was convinced for a full minute that he'd be late for a Danger Room session, and be subject to a _time-management-is-crucial_ lecture from Professor Xavier, if he didn't get his rear in gear.

Then he realized that he was still wearing the same clothes he'd had on yesterday. He'd brought clean ones in his backpack, which was — where? — downstairs, probably. Had he been too tired to change? How had he gotten here?

Then it all came rushing back to him. The fight with Phoebe. Catching a ride from the hippie guy who talked to himself as he drove. Staring Xavier down in the foyer. And, last night, staying on the couch with Jubilee until the chances were very good that they wouldn't stop at kissing unless they went their separate ways.

She had wanted to do more. In his own way, he had, too, but fortunately (or unfortunately) both of them had remembered at the same time whose roof they were under. So he had slipped into her mind instead, soothing the troubled memories and sharing her joy of the good ones, feeling every sensation as surely as she did. And he tried not to let himself think that that was how it could have been with Phoebe.

On some level, he knew that she was perfect for him. She was beautiful, and fearless, and witty, and understanding, and she'd been in love with him since the day they'd first met. He'd been attracted to her even then, even while he was trying to sort out the contrast between who he'd been and who he'd become. She had understood that — of _course_ she had, she was going through it herself. And, unlike some girls he could mention, her affection didn't come with strings attached.

So what in the Nine Billion Names of God was the _problem_?

He realized that he should probably call home. He hadn't left a note, after all, had just left on impulse, and his parents would be worried out of their minds, convinced that he'd drowned in the lake, or been tracked down by the Friends of Humanity, or something. But he didn't feel like facing a lecture from them. Not now. For now, he didn't want to think about his connections to his old life. That was for later, and after that, he could think about what he planned to do next.

**

He left the grounds without buttoning his jacket, without hat or gloves, and he could see his own breath as he made his way down the hill and toward the streets of town. He didn't know where he was going, just that he'd be back before everyone else got up. Wouldn't he?

An icy breeze parted through the cold, still morning… and then it stopped. Abruptly. Just as suddenly, a voice spoke from behind him. "Morning-X-Geek."

Stephen spun around, instantly falling into the fighting stance that Logan had once taught all of them.

"Very-impressive." The newcomer snickered. He was instantly recognizable from battle simulations and from the one class they had shared, which he had spent trying to make as many paper airplanes as he could in fifty minutes.

"I'm not with them anymore," was all Stephen could think to say. "What are you doing here, Pietro?"

"What's it look like I'm doing?" Pietro shot back. "Taking a morning walk, same as you. You know you have your shirt on backwards?"

Stephen looked down. "Now I do. That's not the point. What do you want? I told you, I'm not with the X-Men anymore. I'm just back to visit. So you and the rest of the Loserhood can leave me alone."

"Whoa, whoa!" The white-haired boy held up his hands. "Why the hostility? Okay, maybe you can't answer that. Here's an easier one: Who gave you the idea that Lance and I and the others were such losers? Think on it for a couple of minutes."

"Well..."

"Time's up! It was old cue-ball, wasn't it?"

"Cue-ball?"

"Baldycakes, His Hoverosity... we have a million of them."

"You mean Xavier?"

"Yeah. He told you that any mutant who chose not to follow him was the scum of the earth, right?"

"Not in so many words." Although some of the early-morning mental cobwebs had cleared, Stephen was having a hard time following this conversation. Probably most people did, when talking to Pietro. "But yeah."

"And he also told you a couple of other things that you didn't like so much."

"How'd you..."

"Lucky guess," Pietro replied with a shrug. "That is why you spent the last few months there instead of here, right?"

"Right, but..."

"Don't blame you for splitting. Even Lance couldn't take it for more than a couple of days, and he's lived through worse. A lot worse. So you went back to your old life and tried to live it all normal-like, am I right?"

_Did you come back for me? Or did you come back so you could have all the perks of the kind of life you had there... and none of the responsibilities?_ "I've been trying, yeah," he admitted.

"And succeeding?" Pietro was watching him closely.

"None of your business."

"I thought so. Your family, your friends... what have they done to make you even think they accept what you are?"

"None of your business."

"Say that again and I'll kill you. You don't have to treat me like something you'd scrape off your shoe. Could you do me a favor and answer my question, or are you going to stand here acting all snooty and defensive and X-Geek on me?"

"It's been fine, okay? No complaints."

"And you think it's going to just keep on being 'fine' now that the Sentinels are out?"

"I haven't seen any Sentinels yet," Stephen pointed out.

Pietro made a disgusted noise. "Please. You think that now that they have a way to squash the freaks, they're not going to use it? You think that all of a sudden, they're going to turn around and say, 'Oh, yeah, mutants are people, too'? You think you're safe in that dinky little town, with all of _them_?"

"Them, as in my family?"

"Trust me, family can be overrated. I don't happen to have a choice, that's all. But you do. You can't go back and hide there forever, pretending that you're not one of us. Because sooner or later, it's going to explode in your face. Kaboom."

"Maybe it already has."

"You let someone know what you really were, or reminded them, and they freaked out?"

"Pretty much." _Why am I even talking to him? I don't know him really, I can't trust him, he's a total jerk..._

"Well, then, why aren't you facing facts? Listen, not only can't you hide, but you shouldn't have to." The smirk had disappeared, leaving an expression that bordered on actually being sympathetic. "You tried living with cue-ball's brood. That didn't work. You tried holing up back _home_, and that's not been working, either. But there are alternatives."

"Alternatives? You're not talking about –" But of course he was. Obviously Magneto had known better than to send Gambit again.

"Unlike you, I made my choice and I made it for keeps. You don't want to go back to the X-Geeks, do you?"

"No."

"But you don't want to go back home, do you?"

"None of your…" Stephen began, then caught himself. "I don't know."

"Mmmm-hmmm. Take this." Pietro held out a slip of paper.

"What is it?"

"It's my cell-phone number, dumb-ass. Just in case you're interested in creative solutions to problems that aren't your fault. You know that, right? That this isn't your fault?" Then he was gone.

A/N: Last New Year's, I was smack-dab in the middle of _Bright Darkness_. I wrote in the Author's Note that my readers had made that past year amazing for me, and that I hoped that they'd help make 2002 even better. And guess what? You did. Now I'm hoping the same thing for 2003 — my high school graduation year and, in the fall, the 40th anniversary of the first issue of _X-Men_.

Happy New Year, everyone!


	34. In All Seriousness

Chapter 33: In All Seriousness

Angelina poured herself a bowl of Cheerios, which she ate staring out the window — not that it showed much, just a view of the street and the house facing theirs. I could see this every morning, she found herself thinking.

Luckily, Marianne entered the kitchen before she could continue that train of thought. She was wearing her silk bathrobe and her blond bob of hair was mussed. She patted around the counter for the jars of coffee.

Angelina leapt up. "Already made some."

Marianne blinked. "You did?"

"Yep." She pointed.

Her father's fiancée poured herself a cup — not, to her credit, spilling a drop — and took a long swig. "Better," she murmured. "Simon _cannot_ make coffee, Angelina."

"I remember." In fact, when Joanne was in one of her worse moods, she'd thrown the mug across the room. She and Charity were both very big on throwing things.

"When I'm more awake, I'm going to have to talk to you about the wedding." She pushed her hair back.

"What about the wedding?" Angelina asked, mystified.

"Didn't he tell you?"

"No." Actually, the two of them had kept the lovey-dovey-ness down to the proverbial dull roar. Not that Angelina could picture Marianne, who was a wonderful person but a Businesswoman with a capital B, being lovey-dovey in any way, shape, or form.

"Well, it's in July… you and your sister will be out of school then… and we were going to ask you to be our bridesmaids."

"In _dresses_?" was the first thing that popped out of Angelina's mouth.

"That was the idea."

"Well, thanks. I'll think about it. And I'll ask her." Although Angelina had every intention of being at the wedding, come hell, high water, or mutant terrorists, marching down the aisle in a dress was something else altogether. "Whose idea was this?"

"What? His. Definitely his. But I supported it wholeheartedly."

"I've missed him."

"I know you have. We've missed you, too."

"When you're more awake" — Angelina grinned — "could you tell me one more time about how you put that curse on Jonas?"

**

She opted against telling Joanne about the engagement while the two of them were in the car — she didn't want to play the lead in the next _Red Asphalt_ video. In fact, after seeing the look on her mother's face when Marianne's name was mentioned, she seriously considered not bringing the subject up at all.

The first thing she said to her sister when they got home was, "Are you okay?"

"I'm fine."

Angelina set her bag down on her bed ceremoniously. "Home, sweet home. Listen, Dad wants to know if we want to be his bridesmaids."

From the doorway, Phoebe wrinkled her nose. "In dresses?" she asked skeptically.

"I know, right? I'm not sure, either. I'll tell you something, though."

"What?"

"I'm thinking of asking Larry to come up from D.C. just to be my date."

"You're not serious!" Phoebe exclaimed, in an animated contrast to the dejection on her face yesterday morning.

"Totally serious."

"You must really like him."

"I really do. This doesn't mean I'll be ditching you, or anything, like Jasmine. Remember?" No answer. "'Um, Phoebe? I can't talk right now? Kevin's here?' 'I know we had plans, but Kevin invited me to…' And always with the cuddling there on the beach." Still no answer. "I thought it was okay to say this stuff about her. You're not friends anymore, right?"

"I kind of hung out with her and Cindy yesterday."

"Cindy who?" Angelina asked, puzzled. "Not Cindy Stepford? Oh, come on!"

"I didn't know I needed your permission."

"You don't, but..."

"It was actually kind of nice. Kind of normal. And yeah, I know, Cindy's the 'school slut' and Jasmine chooses her friends based on their genetic makeup, but…"

"You know that? Good. Watch yourself around those FOH types."

"I already do," Phoebe said firmly. "It's not like I'm going to join them or anything."

"Probably what Jasmine said. And Kevin. It's not that I don't trust you. Because I do." Phoebe winced at those words, and Angelina apologized; she knew she had definitely stepped on some toes there, and had a pretty good idea of how.

"It's okay."

"Just watch yourself," Angelina repeated.

"I will." 


	35. The Telepath of Least Resistance

Chapter 34: The Telepath of Least Resistance

The note was still in Stephen's pocket. Eight words: half invitation, half warning. _You interested? You call. You squeal? You die._ And, under that, a phone number, but not the one he was dialing now.

"Hi, everyone," came Charity's recorded voice. "You've reached the Spencers, but we're not here right now, so leave a message."

Stephen sighed. "It's me. I'm with my friends. I'm fine. I'll be back later today. Sorry if I worried you guys."

That done, he hung up and followed Jubilee (who'd been tapping her foot impatiently) outside. As February had ended, the snow had melted enough to clear their old baseball diamond, and now that spring was around the proverbial corner, it had come time for what had always started out as an innocent game. Ray was pitching, and Jean was currently at bat. Stephen, who hated baseball and knew all too well how long the "No powers" rule usually lasted, was content to watch from the sidelines and cheer for Jubilee when she made an impressive save.

_Perfect for me_, he thought again.

_"May I have this dance?"_

_"It would be my pleasure. So you'll never guess who I just ran into."_

_"Spider-Man?"_

_"Nope. Reese."_

_"Your ex-boyfriend Reese?"_

_"The one and only."_

_"What'd he want?"_

_"To know why we couldn't get back together. He kept saying that you weren't good for me."_

_"And what'd you tell him?"_

_"That I'd be the judge of that."_

Fine. Okay. Except her judgments had been a little less than what he'd expected.

"You're thinking about her, aren't you?"

He blinked. Jubilee had joined him on the bleachers. "They called in my replacement," she said, with an offhand wave in Sam's general direction. "Well?"

Stephen stared at her. "Have we switched powers? Am I giving off sparks?"

"I've been calling your name for, like, ten minutes. Okay, more like one and a half. But you're staring off into space, and it's really creepy. You miss her, don't you?"

"Forget it." 

…like friends who you could trust with your secret and liked being reminded of it every twelve seconds…

Couldn't she see that he'd trying to… to _warn_ her about what she was getting herself into? Just like Kurt had tried to warn Amanda, who hadn't listened.

"Don't be so _depressed_," Jubilee urged him. "You wouldn't believe how grim things have gotten around here lately." She caught him staring at the laughing mutants on the field and added, "I don't mean all the time. But what's the point of playing some baseball to take your mind off when you get kicked out? Hey, batter-batter-batter!" she shouted suddenly. "See, even that never works."

"Right now, all I want to do is go back to worrying about getting the Class Superlatives list in on time." He stared at his sneakers. "God, listen to me."

"I already told you it's okay. Explain this class superlative thingy."

He did. "Oh, that's great!" she exclaimed. "We should do one of those!"

"Huh?"

"Like, 'Most useful…" She hesitated, searched for a noun that wouldn't be redundant, and failed. "…use… of powers'."

"You remember that stuff?"

"Sure. And I think the winner would be when Rahne 'shifted so she could get a better grade on her Environmental Science project."

"Okay."

"Or how about 'Best Excuse For Being Late For Training'?"

Getting into the game, Stephen suggested, "The amnesia thing."

"When Amara tried to pretend that Jean wiped out her memories by accident?"

"Yeah, that."

"'Mara's a pretty good actress. Too bad Logan called in the professor to check."

"How about when Kurt took an extra-long time saying goodbye to Amanda…"

"….and he saw the look on Xavier's face, and said…" she joined in.

"'Vat? I am a lover, not a fighter,'" they finished together. "Tabby's the Class Flirt," Jubilee went on, "and Jean's the Most Likely to Succeed, and Scooter's the Most Changed, and Evan's the Least Changed. And you, I think, are… I don't know. You're kind of hard to classify, especially now that you're moping."

"That's me, the man of mystery."

"You _wish_. Don't mope. You have more important things to think about than whether you can patch things up with some human girl."

This spurred another memory, slightly older and slightly more distasteful.

"I just wanted to make sure that your emotions don't get in the way of your judgment. You are, after all, an X-Man, and you would do well to remember your priorities."

_But I'm not. Not anymore_.

"Do you really want to go back?" Her voice returned him to the present with a jolt.

"I don't know. I'm really happy here, but…"

"But what?" She snuggled against his shoulder.

Surprised (although he probably shouldn't have been) and a little awkward, he wrapped one arm around her. _So what's going on? _Really_? Are we officially together now? What about Bobby? Help!_

"Hello, earth to Stephen, come in, please!"

"What? Oh."

"Why _don't_ you stay?" Jubilee asked. "It would be great. We can help each other with our homework, have movie marathons after we train, just like we used to. We can go swimming in the pool at night…"

"It's too cold to swim."

"…when nobody's around. And you don't have to worry about making the wrong impression. You've been _way_ too into that."

"You don't have to tell me twice."

"I'm sure your parents would be okay with it. And you don't have to worry about what Fifi's going to think, either."

"Her name is Phoebe," Stephen said for the second time in the space of two days. "She's not a _poodle_. She's — _was_ — my girlfriend."

"Was," Jubilee said pointedly. "Exactly. You don't have to feel guilty about leaving her behind anymore."

"My family…"

"Is here. We always have been. Please stay."

Someone on the field shouted, "Mutant Ball!"

"This oughta be good," Jubilee said cheerfully. "But don't think I'm letting you off that easy." She kissed him quickly. "At least think about it."

"I will." And his fingers closed over the folded piece of paper in his pocket.


	36. Life Lessons

Chapter 35: Life Lessons

Larry's favorite high-tops smacked against the pavement, a chilly but not unpleasant wind whipped through his hair, and the momentum carried him farther and farther away from what, against his better judgment, he'd begun to think of as "home."

If you asked him, he would say that he wasn't running _from_ anything, that he had put on his sweats on impulse and taken off into the cold February dusk for no other reason than that he needed fresh air. He wouldn't have been able to list the things he was trying to escape from: the stifling aura of the Chalmers house; from his inadvertent entanglement in Phoebe's crisis with her weird boyfriend; and from the nagging suspicion that even if it was inadvertent, it wasn't by chance. He was a Trask, after all, and therefore it stood to reason that he'd gotten mixed up in a seriously strange mutant-related angst-fest. Couldn't he say that he'd been primed for this kind of thing ever since he was ten years old, seated at the table, eating pretzels and listening to his dad lecture? Oh, shit, there goes the planet.*

_"I don't want to scare either of you, but you need to know this. There are certain people that you're going to have to watch out for."_

_"Like strangers? We already learned not to talk to strangers."_

Tanya, who'd been eight at the time, had sounded so damn sure of herself.

_"Strangers they may be, pumpkin. Very strange. They're not like us at all."_

He couldn't remember their father calling her "pumpkin" since. If Larry didn't know better, he could've sworn he'd dreamed that part.

_"Not like us how?"_

His own voice, six years younger and almost unfamiliar in itself.

_"They can do things we can't. They're stronger than we are. They're smarter than we are. And they have… well, they have super-powers."_

_"Like Superman?"_

He'd retained his love for comic books over the years, but, unlike Doug, he'd come to prefer Batman to Superman. Who cared if you were faster than a speeding bullet and more powerful than a locomotive when you could stop criminals and save the city without any superhuman abilities at all? All the Bat needed were his smarts; his training; a utility belt full of kick-ass gadgets; and a cool car.

_"If you want to look at it that way, Lawrence, yes. But without Superman's sense of right and wrong. My research shows — look, kids, I know you get bored when I talk about my work, but this is important. You need to know what to watch out for, and you need to know to come straight to me if you spot any mutants."_

He turned the corner off of his own street and came within sight of the school. One or two windows were lighted, and the parking lot was almost completely deserted. In this almost-darkness, it looked different, somehow sinister, as if whoever was in there was plotting world domination instead of grading papers or sweeping the floor. Larry gave an inexplicable shudder and kept running. He kept one eye out for approaching headlights. The safe, sensible thing to do would be to attach reflector-tape to his running clothes. But he was careful, and besides, he sort of liked being invisible. A creature of the night.

Unfortunately, even creatures of the night couldn't avoid the press. Not two days after the Sentinel broadcast, the doorbell had chimed. Larry had been alone in the house. Angelina, he had thought as he opened it. No such luck. It was a tall, trim woman in a pantsuit, carrying a clipboard. She'd introduced herself as Delia Foxworth from the _Inside Edge_.

_"You're Lawrence, right? The eldest?"_

_"Yeah. So?"_

_"Seeing as you're the person who knows Dr. Trask best, I wonder if you'd mind answering a couple of questions."_

_"Like?"_

_"Like did you know what he was planning?"_

_"No."_

_"Really? He never told you about his campaign against mutants?"_

_"Well, yeah, I knew about that."_

_"Has he confided in you in the past?"_

"Mostly."

That had been a lie, but he had hoped that it would get her out of his face. He was sorely disappointed.

_"Did you and your sister have a good relationship with Dr. Trask?"_

_"I guess."_

_"I wonder if you'd mind describing it a little."_

_"Yes."_

_"Very well, then. Did you support his anti-mutant leanings, or did something lead you to question him? And when you finally ventured out into the world, did you find his fears of the 'mutie scum' satisfied?"_

_"Can't answer that, sorry."_

_"You don't have any unresolved issues with him, do you?"_

Larry had slammed the door in her face. Nobody else in the house had ever found out he had been there. He'd been in no mood to see Mt. Chalmers erupt that day.

It had erupted anyway, that weekend, when the _Inside Edge_ had hit newsstands. According to Ms. Delia Foxworth, the "heir apparent to the Trask family cause" had been "secretive and sullen, either unwilling or unable to share the details of his child in this unconventional environment" and had "hinted at a possible dissatisfaction with his predestined place in the war against mutants." The judge had positively exploded, demanding to know how Larry could have been so insensitive as to give them anything to work with.

_"I don't know."_

_"Do you think you would sound clever?"_

_"I don't know."_

_"How do you think your father is going to react to this?"_

_"I don't know."_

He'd been in luck there — the Mad Scientist, always so attentive to the sage words of the tabloids, didn't seem to even realize the article existed.

He hadn't even realized how far or how long he'd been running. Several miles, it must have been. He was out of breath, wishing he'd thought to bring a water bottle, when he noted the road sign and realized he was at the corner of Oak Street.

_For her, I'll summon up the strength_.

The corniness of that thought surprised him. But it was no surprise, nor had there ever been any doubtin his mind, that he had fallen for Angelina Corlisle. If it hadn't been for her, there was no way he would have survived these couple of months.

He recognized her house, and recognized the lit-up window as her own, although he'd never seen the inside of her bedroom. He wanted to, though. He wished she'd stop sending mixed messages, although sometimes he could understand her hesitation. Hell, most of the time he could relate. And he wouldn't have changed her for anything in the world.

Lyrics from one of Tanya's favorite songs came floating back to him. At least, he assumed it was one of her favorites, since it was on a CD that she played _constantly_ and had therefore lodged in his brain like a kernel of corn between his teeth. The only verse he could remember came to mind now, as he stared up at Angelina's lighted window.

_They're saying_

_"Mama never loved her much"_

_And "Daddy never keeps in touch_

_That's why she shies away from human affection"_

_But somewhere in a private place_

_She packs her bags for outer space…_

_And now she's waiting for the right kind of pilot…_**

He wondered what would happen if he knocked on her door now — sweaty, panting slightly, with his hair all in his face — and said, "I was just in the neighborhood."

Nah, better save that one.

He turned around abruptly and headed for home.

Disclaimers:

*The "There goes the planet" line is from _Spaceballs_, one of the funniest movies of all time.

**Yay! We have a Larry/Angelina song! It's "To The Moon And Back" by (who else?) Savage Garden. I swear to God I'm obsessed.

A/N: Not much point to this chapter, I'm afraid. I turned off the computer, prepared to go to sleep like average normal people do at this hour, and immediately, Stephen (my muse, for those of you who don't Get It) was all, "Hey, Neva, let's do a chapter from Larry's POV. Let's have him harassed by reporters. And, okay, you can put in some of your boy-band lyrics if you want." He deserves a good thrashing, but I acquiesced. It's the price I pay for keeping the story running and the reviews coming. Nudge, nudge, wink, wink.


	37. If Only

Chapter 36: If Only

_Why did I ever sign up for this class?_ Phoebe wondered. She'd heard wonderful things about Mrs. Yang, the anthropology teacher from last year, who brought interesting things like cultural patterns and current issues into the curriculum. But she'd quit last year after getting a better job offer at the nearby prep school, and if her replacement, Mr. Anthony, had anything in mind for the semester besides different types of primates, Phoebe had yet to hear it.

Jasmine, who sat next to her, was drawing a spiral of tiny, intricate designs on the back of her notebook. You had to look closely to see the designs were actually the words "So Bored! So Bored! So Bored!" over and over and over. C.J. Green, who sat next to _her_, was picking at the gum under his desk. _Gross_, Phoebe thought. She, at least, was writing _in_ her notebook, but the contents of this particular page were, most likely, nowhere in the syllabus, and the only monkey in question was herself.

_Dear Stephen,_

_I can't believe I said what I said. I admit that I was deliberately trying to hurt you, and I guess I succeeded. And I'm sorry for that._

Sometimes I wonder if I've really come to terms with everything. I don't think I will until I can answer the question that I should have asked at the beginning: How much does someone's mutancy change things for the people who have always cared about them?

_I don't know if "mutancy" is even a word._

_But whether or not it is, I think you've been using it as an excuse. No, not an excuse. You've been using it to determine so many of your decisions, the good ones and the bad ones. You are not a prisoner of what you are. I don't know what's happened with your family or Xavier or everything you've seen and experienced to make you think that you are, but_

"Miss Corlisle!"

Phoebe cringed, throwing her arm across the page. When on her feet, she stood a full half inch over Mr.Anthony, but he somehow managed to loom over her in this position. "Are you paying attention?" he went on.

"Of course."

"May I see your notes?" Without waiting for an answer, he whipped the notebook from its place beneath her arm with the grace of one of those stunt guys who pulled a tablecloth out from under a full dinner setting. Then he handed it to her. "I'm sure the rest of the class would like to hear what you had to say."

A few heads rose out of a few pairs of arms, and every single ear perked up.

Phoebe glared. "It's private." _Please not now, please not this teacher trick now, please God you aren't that cruel_.

"This is _class time_, Miss Corlisle. If what you're writing is good enough for this Stephen, who I don't think is even in this class, then it must be good enough for the people who are. Am I right?"

He knew who it was addressed to. Phoebe hugged the notebook against her; nearly a year had passed since she had felt this intimidated, this helpless. _He knew who it was addressed to_. He had _looked_ at it. What else had he read? How much else did he know? "It's private," she said again.

"Who would like to hear what Miss Corlisle has to say?" A few people raised their hands. Jasmine, to her credit, wasn't one of them. "Well, your audience has spoken. Out with it."

She realized that she was literally sweating as she clutched the notebook closer. Her mind was a complete blank except for the insistence that this was just another dream, that she'd wake up soon like she'd woken up from the other ones.

"Do you want detention?" Mr. Anthony demanded.

"No."

"Because that's what you're going to get if you don't share your personal thoughts with the class."

Phoebe opened her eyes, laid the notebook on her desk. "Fine."

Silence reigned. Then a couple of her classmates — Jasmine included this time — clapped.

**

"You totally rocked!" Jasmine exclaimed at lunch. "Oh, my God, I didn't know you were this cool. You was totally standing up for your beliefs."

"Even in the face of prosecution," Cindy added.

"Persecution," Phoebe corrected, even though it had felt a lot like prosecution to her.

'Whatever, yeah." She glanced at Phoebe's tray. "Yuck, how can you eat that?"

"It's just an egg-salad sandwich."

"It's full of _mayonnaise_," Cindy said, scandalized. She pronounced the word as if it were an illegal and dangerous chemical with which diabolical cafeteria ladies laced the food.

Phoebe took a bite anyway. "It's not bad."

"Yeah, just because you starve yourself doesn't mean you have to diss other people about the way theyeat," Jasmine commented.

"Shut up, bitch!" Cindy snapped.

"I'm serious, you're so skinny."

"Jealous?"

"No way, I don't want to accessorize with a tube in my nose. What's the matter, scared that Jeff'll go back to Karen if your waist isn't the diameter of a _chive_?"

"I said, shut _up_."

"Anyway, I'm not going to get detention," Phoebe said pointedly. The two of them looked up as if they'd just realized she was there. "He was just kidding. All I got was a lecture on there being a time and a place for it, and the importance of respect, and blah blah blah."

"You were writing to Stephen?"

"Yeah." She had torn out the letter and stuffed it in her pocket as soon as class had ended.

"What'd you say?" Cindy asked, eyes wide.

"You know, stuff."

"What kind of stuff?"

"That I was sorry."

Both girls booed in unison. "So now you're crawling back?" Jasmine asked angrily, as if this were the gravest sin imaginable.

"No. I don't want us together, I just —"

"You _just_ have to let him know that he's not worth your time," Cindy said in her older-and-wiser voice. "That he's old news to you."

"You don't understand."

"_So tell us_!" Cindy hesitated. "Were you cheating on him? Is that what this is about?"

"No!"

"Was he cheating on _you_?"

"Not that I know of."

"Did he kill someone?"

"Cindy!" Jasmine admonished.

"He didn't kill anyone," Phoebe said, exasperated. "And he's not on drugs, or crazy, or a mutant, like the rumors are saying." Part of her was wondering why she was even covering up for him, why she had risked detention so he wouldn't betray the secret she'd been living with for the past year and a half. She was severely tempted to tear up the note she'd started, once she got home. Never mind that what she'd said to him had been a thousand times worse than what he'd said to her. If she listened to these two, she didn't owe him anything.

But did she _want_ to listen to them?

"She's not going to tell us," Jasmine said decisively. "You're not going to tell us, are you?"

"Do you want our help or not?" Cindy asked.

Phoebe played with her straw wrapper for a long time before answering. "I don't know." Something was wrong here, but she couldn't for the life of her tell what it was.

When the bell rang, it seemed she had never been so glad to leave a place in her life, even though she knew that wasn't true.

She was concentrating on moving on to her next class, not to mention getting away from those two no matter how well they meant, and prayed she wouldn't…

"Watch it!"

… bump into anyone.

"Sorry," she gasped, blinking and bending to gather the textbooks that had fallen. Only when she had straightened up did she get a good look at whom she'd almost knocked down.

"It's okay," Reese said. "How've you been?"

It was almost the same question he'd asked at the dance. "Okay."

"What do you have next?"

"English."

"I'll walk you there, okay?"

Doesn't mean anything. And if it does, so what? "Sure."

"You're not very talkative today, are you?" he asked as they moved through the crush of students.

"Yeah, well."

"I can understand it." He flipped back the hood of his black sweatshirt. "I mean, you did have that big fight with Stephen."

She stopped, risked being knocked over, and stared. "How'd you hear that?" she demanded.

"From Bernie. He heard it from Larry, who I guess heard it from your sister."

She was going to have to have a Serious Talk with Angelina. "Oh."

"Are you okay?" he asked, silver-blue eyes suddenly full of concern.

_That_ was unexpected. She found herself — yes, she was actually smiling. "I will be. Thanks."

"Welcome," Reese said nonchalantly. They were almost at the door of room 147. "Listen, we're playing at Dahlia's on Saturday. Want to come?"

"I don't know. Do I get to say I'm 'with the band'?"

"If you want." He didn't look like he got it.

"I was kidding," she explained.

"Oh. Um. Well, I hope I see you there."

"Thanks. I'll think about it." She knew that the proper thing to do would be to call Jasmine as soon as she got home, explain the whole thing, and then get together for help deciding what to wear. But something stopped her, made her just wave as he walked away, and pay even more attention as the class began.

**

A/N: On _Boston Public_ the other night, one of the teachers was feeling insecure because his new girlfriend made more money than he did. His fiancée left him in the previous season because she knew he was never going to make her rich, and it gave him some sort of weird complex that was, as we found out in the last few episodes, just frosting on the cake after his more-than-slightly messed-up life. (You're probably wondering why I like this show so much. It's a mystery to me, too.) Anyway, the principal (ironically named Steven) gives him advice that was pretty close to this: "Everyone you date is going to be… _something_." Meaning something _different_, something that he possibly wouldn't like, something that could come between them, _if he let it_. And it struck a chord with me for obvious reasons. I told you I was one of the lost.


	38. A Different Species

Chapter 37: A Different Species

It was Angelina who answered the phone, Monday night while she was painting her nails Carnage Cadmium and trying to read at the same time. She carefully set down the brush on a napkin, wedged the phone underneath her chin so the nails wouldn't smudge, and said, "This is Angelina; impress me."

"Um, hi," said a male voice.

She frowned. "Larry?"

"No."

"Stephen?" Somehow she didn't think so, unless Phoebe had decided to show some _sense_ for once.

"It's Reese," the voice said impatiently. "Is Phoebe there?"

"Sure." She shouted downstairs for her sister, then hung up when she heard the other voice on the extension.

Twenty minutes later, Phoebe flew into the room, actually smiling. "Guess what?"

"Please do not tell me the two of you are back together."

"Better. He asked if I wanted to open on Saturday!"

Angelina blinked. "Open what?" she asked blankly.

"Open for the Screaming Civilians, of course. He said he knew it was short notice, but he talked to the guy who runs Dahlia's, and said he had, quote, 'this friend at school who's really talented and wants to sing professionally' and he understood if I didn't have time to practice, or if I was wasn't ready, or if I was scared that I'd mess up and everyone would see and I wouldn't be able to show my face at school for the rest of the year…" She trailed off, and her face fell back into its recurrent despondency. "Maybe I'd better call him back and…"

Angelina grabbed Phoebe's wrist, no longer caring about the polish. "You'll do nothing of the kind. This is what you've been waiting for. Am I right?" No answer. "Am I right?"

"Yes, but…"

"But nothing. You're so good. I've heard you. And maybe you're a little nervous, but that's okay. You need this. I'll help you pick out just the right song."

"But…" Phoebe repeated.

Angelina sighed. "Look, I'll even come," she said.

"You hate nightclubs."

"Duh. I'll come to see you."

"By yourself?" Phoebe teased.

Another sigh. "I'll ask him."

"It's so kewl that you have a boyfriend."

"He's not a boyfriend," Angelina protested. "He's a… a Larry."

"Is that, like, a species?"

"Sometimes I wonder."

"And it's okay to tell this Larry-species all about your sister's romantic troubles?"

The goofy grin faded from Angelina's face. "Sorry. We were in the cafeteria before school started, you know, and he asked why you didn't go with me to Dad's. I guess Bernie overheard."

"Speaking of different species."

"You said it."

"You're sure he asked?"

"He definitely asked,"

The next time the phone rang, it was Haley, once again inviting Angelina to a get-together with her and her mysterious Wiccan friends. "We won't be doing anything scary," she promised.

"I…"

"I don't want to hear any of your excuses. Either you got too much homework, or you unexpectedly switched shifts with Melvin, or you got a date with the Sentinel maker's kid."

"I thought I told you not to call him that."

"Sorry. Didn't mean to. You know what you should do?" Haley asked as if inspiration had suddenly struck her. "You should bring him along."

Angelina tried to picture Larry standing and chanting as part of a circle, and although she smiled at the thought, she said, "Neither of us are really into that stuff. Sorry."

"So you just watch. I just want you to meet these people. It seems like you'd really liked them. They're like us — freaks and proud of it."

_Just because I don't bend over backwards to be assimilated doesn't mean I'm a freak._ "And besides, I actually do have plans for that night."

"This better be good," Haley said in a warning tone.

"I — and Larry if he says yes — we're going over to Dahlia's to hear Phoebe sing." _If she doesn't chicken out and run scared like she's done with everything else._

"You actually want to go to a club?"

Phoebe had asked the same thing. In the past, Angelina had pretended to be enthusiastic when other girls had dragged her out to nightclubs, but she had eventually grown bored any experience where whether you got noticed depended on how much you'd had to drink. However, this was a special case. "Sure."

"Well, have fun." Haley sounded doubtful.

"Thanks. You, too."

Each time she was invited to join a circle, Angelina became more and more aware of the undertones of "Come on, afraid you might like it?" If she hadn't known her friend, she could have sworn that it was less a request than a dare, a wager that she couldn't be completely caught up in something and surrender her better judgment. Leaping before you looked was one thing. Getting swept away, without struggling or reasoning, was quite another.

**

Stephen's parents were thinking about moving. He hadn't been snooping on their thoughts — he was definitely among the teenagers who didn't _want_ to know what was on their parents' minds. It had been Violet who had told him, when he was just finishing a biology assignment the night before. She'd knocked softly on his door. Suspicious, bracing himself for nosy questions, he'd told her to come in.

_"Mommy and Daddy are fighting again."_

_She'd whispered it, like she thought she wasn't supposed to know._

_"Were you listening in?"_

_"No. They're down in the living room. I guess they don't care who hears them. Don't you want to know what it was about?"_

_"Does it matter?"_

_"I think it does. They want us to move away."_

For some reason, that prospect had seemed entirely alien to him.

_"What? When? Where?"_

_"At the end of the school year, and I don't where. She kept saying stuff like, 'Wallglass is our home. We've built all our best memories here.' And Daddy said, 'Yeah, but we've built a lot of bad ones, too. I could take that primetime offer I told you about, you could start teaching again, and we could have a fresh start.'"_

_"Wow. Do you think they're serious?"_

_"I don't want to move."_

As he got off the bus at school that morning (he really, _really_ hated not having his own car), Stephen wondered for the first time how much any of that would really affect him. Assuming he'd even be _alive_, if he got into any of the four schools he'd applied to, he'd be living somewhere else next year. (He and Phoebe had both applied to NYU, back when the future looked a lot more certain than it did now.)

Now, on top of all this, there was the note taped to his locker. He handled it gingerly, as if it might explode. Actually, that was entirely possible. At the very least, it would make just as much sense as anything else.

_…but what I guess I was trying to tell you that night, and maybe ever since you first left for the Institute (see, I didn't call it That Place), is that it's not true. Even if things never are going to be the same, you can still make decisions based on what you want, not what's happened to you. Because I've tried it that way, and it sucks._

_Okay, end of pep talk. Please know how sorry I am about the fight. That was what it was, really. And this doesn't mean we're not going to have more of them, but it doesn't mean we won't be able to get past them, either. If you decide to talk to me._

_Love always,_

_Phoebe_

**

She was like the one of those Sirens — not the vigilantes who turned out to be Jean, Rogue, Kitty, Tabby, and Amara — but the real ones, the ones from the _Odyssey_. He tried to ignore her singing, but it drew him closer and closer to the door of the auditorium, and compelled him to open it a crack and peek in.

Phoebe stood on the stage, behind one of the microphones. Sunlight streamed in through the window and caught the red in her hair. He didn't recognize the song, but didn't wonder where she'd heard it, or whom she was singing for, since there was nobody else in the auditorium. Stephen eased all the way inside, closing the door behind him. She didn't notice until the song had ended and he'd found himself clapping despite himself. "Hi," she said.

"Hi."

"Staying late again?" she asked, favoring him with a huge smile as if nothing had happened.

"Yeah." On the days when he didn't have to work, he had always favored staying after school, finishing his homework in the library, and taking the late bus home. "How about you?"

"Practicing."

"You sounded good." He could feel his ears turning red.

"Thank you," she said automatically.

"I got your note," he blurted out, feeling about ten years old.

"Oh." That was it. No accusation, no explanation, nothing to indicate that she'd even been the one to send it. For all he knew, she hadn't been, and it had been a stupid ploy of Jeff's to corner and clobber him. But the handwriting had looked like hers, and Jeff's gang didn't know about Xavier. "I almost threw it away," she said next.

"Yeah?"

"Yeah. I —" She shook her head. "Come up here."

"What?"

"I feel silly shouting. Come up here and sit."

So he walked down the aisle between the seats and climbed up to sit next to her on the empty stage. Not close to her, not touching. _What am I supposed to do here?_ Stephen wondered. _I broke up with her — at least I think I did, but she thinks it's just a fight — Jubilee and I fooled around, and now Phoebe wants to patch things up. Kind of like on Friends, but with super-powers as an added bonus. What am I supposed to do? What are the Rules for this?_

But he knew, and he knew she knew as well. There were no Rules. They had to make it up as they went.

"I don't know if I want us to start going out again," she said.

"Yeah." He nodded. "You said that in your note."

"I guess I did. You know, it was only last weekend, and I don't even know what we were fighting about." She looked at him sideways. "You know that was a lie, right?"

"I guess so."

"Are you still mad at me?"

"I don't know," he said. "Are you still mad at me?"

"I don't know. Are you—" She stopped, started over. "Okay. I asked that. I'm angry about what you said, and I'm angry because I couldn't make you see sense. But — will you look at me? — it was a fight. People have those. And the stuff I'm angry about — those are just things _about_ you. They aren't _you_."

Despite everything, Stephen had to smile. "Subtle."

She smiled back. "You got me."

"I'm glad you want to fix things," he said before he could stop himself. "I really…" He remembered saying it before, and what her response had been…or, rather, what it hadn't been. "I really care about you. You've always made me feel so happy." She was softening now, and he knew he could get away with not telling her about what had happened that weekend. In fact, his chances of getting away with it were a hundred percent better if he didn't say a word. Unlike on _Friends_, there wasn't a "trail" of people through whom it might get back to her. He hadn't told anyone.

_Better than leaving Jubes hanging, anyway. She really loves you._

_I'm not committing to anything with Phoebe._

_But you want to. I'm telling you, this is a mistake. You're going to be right back to the same thing in a matter of weeks. Fool you twice, shame on —_

_Shut up!_

_You don't really care about Jubilee._

_Shut…_

_You were just using her._

_Well, couldn't it be said that I was using Phoebe to make me feel normal? What about that?_

_Uh-uh. Sorry. Don't try to make things more complicated, Stevie-boy._

"Are you okay?"

He blinked. Phoebe was staring at him. "Yeah. I'm fine. I just… I kind of have a confession to make."

"You didn't rejoin Xavier's squad, did you?" She wasn't smiling.

"What?"

"Stephen, I'm not an idiot," Phoebe informed him. "I know you were there over the weekend."

"No… I didn't join them. I'm back here, aren't I?" Instead of giving her a chance to answer, he kept talking. "Remember my friend Jubilee?"

Her eyes narrowed as if she could sense what was coming.

"Well, she's always liked me. And after everyone else went to bed, she and I were talking, and she told me how she felt, and we ended up…" He couldn't look at her as he said it, and whether any of this had even been a good idea became seriously debatable. _Why am I embarrassed? Why can't I say it? Where are we even going with this?_

"Did you…" He could practically see her hoping for the best, expecting the worst. "You know. Did you sleep together?"

This time he did look at her. "No. No, we didn't. She wanted to."

"So you just…what?" she demanded. "Help me here!"

"We just kissed."

"Do you like her?"

"Yes. No. I don't know." Anger was rising again. "And what do you think you were doing, falling all over Reese just because the two of us had a fight?"

"I didn't fall all over him!" Phoebe snapped. "He asked me if I wanted to sing at Dahlia's on Saturday, and I said yes. In case you've forgotten, this is something I've actually been _wanting_ to do!"

_Right, and popular guys with Reputations ask unbelievably hot girls to sing for them just because it's part of that girl's lifelong dream. _When had he become such a cynic? "But didn't you think we were over?" he said out loud.

"Yes. It's not like I think you were cheating on me or anything, but…" She didn't finish her sentence.

"But what?" He didn't mean to hear what he heard next. _But it just shows that I've never been good enough for you,_ she thought. _Just because I'm human._ And he knew the look on his face was giving him away. She knew that he had caught her thinking it.


	39. Heir Apparent

Chapter 38: Heir Apparent

"Yes. Yes." Tanya rolled her eyes. "I don't know. No, of course I'm being careful. Listen, do you want to talk to…no? Okay, I'll tell him you said hi." She hung up. "Dad said he had to go to a meeting-type-thing."

"Great," Larry said glumly.

"He can't still be mad at you about the article."

"Right, except he _is_."

"Did you tell Harold that you didn't _say_ anything?"

"Yeah. I tried to, but he was too busy getting in touch with his inner psycho." He paused. "You didn't read the article, did you?"

"Well, duh. It's not every day my big brother makes the newspapers. Especially not as 'the heir apparent to the Trask family cause.'"

"Shut up."

"What did I say?"

"Look, everyone at our old school knew who we were," Larry explained. "He's never exactly kept quiet about the whole 'mutant menace' thing, even before it was big news."

"I know all that." She picked up one of Alison's paperweights and shifted it from one hand to the other. "So?"

"They used to chase you around the playground asking when he was going to blow up the world," he went on. "Then you started taking karate so you could beat them up."

"By now I could probably beat _you_ up if I wanted. But what are you getting at?"

"And Dad always talked about how we were privileged to know about the 'threat.'" He made little quote marks with his fingers. "And we were the ones who were going to help destroy it."

She put the paperweight down. "I haven't had any trouble."

"Has he ever told you that you were going to be the one to carry on his 'great crusade'?"

Surprised, Tanya shook her head. "No, not even once."

Larry sighed. "Look, you want the truth?"

"Is it juicy?"

He stared at her. "No, why the hell would it be juicy?"

"Just thought I'd ask," she said with a shrug. "So let's hear it."

"He invited me to stay back home and help him."

"Help him build the first Sentinel?" she gasped.

"He didn't tell me what it was at the time. But he said he would, after you were gone." Strangely, he thought of a short story he'd read in English class at the beginning of the year. At the beginning, it stated that the two female members of the family were off visiting friends for the duration of the story, and never mentioned them again. The teacher stressed that the author had only done that in order to get them out of the way and let relationship between the main character and his father take center stage.

"And you said no."

"Yeah, because I guess I was looking for — what is it? — a change of scenery. Yeah, that's it. And I thought that I could finally make my own decisions about what I wanted to do, and what I thought of them, by moving here. But because of that stupid article, there isn't any chance of that."

"But you don't want to —"

"I don't want to do any half-assed 'I'll never join you on the Dark Side!' kind of thing."

Tanya would never understand boys as long as she lived. "Look, are we done with the angst?" she asked.

"For now. Thanks for your support," he said sarcastically.

"Welcome. I gotta call Kylie now. I heard that the Screaming Civilians are doing another show this weekend. She'll know if it's true."

"They are," Larry said calmly. "Angelina and I are going."

_I can't help it, I have to do my little-sister duty._ "Ooh," she said. "What's a _senior_ doing with _you_?"

"It's only a year's difference."

"You really like her, don't you? I can't believe it. You don't like any girls."

"None of your business."

"Where do you think things will go with you guys after the end of last year?" He gazed at her suspiciously. "No, I'm really curious. What do you think?"

"I want us to keep in touch," Larry said reluctantly. "She's really cool. I want things to last."

"Will they?"

"Don't know. I can't see the future."

For some reason, that reminded her of a question she would have forgotten to ask otherwise. "Larry."

"What?"

She took a deep breath. "Do you think Dad would still love us if — if we turned out to be mutants?"

Larry paused for a long time. "I don't know. I don't think that's going to happen." But if she didn't know better, she could have sworn that he was looking seriously disturbed.

A/N: I have midterms this week (barf) but will try to write every spare second that I can. Don't forget to review!


	40. Jasmine's Confession

Chapter 39: Jasmine's Confession

Cindy's exact words had been, "Trust us. We're experts. By the time we get done with you, you won't even recognize yourself."

"Oh, boy," Phoebe muttered now that she had seen her reflection in the mirror. Metallic gold lines stretched from her eyelids almost to her ears, the bottom lids were coated with gray like she hadn't been sleeping lately, and her lips were outlined in dark red but not filled in. "Well, you guys were right."

"Aren't we always?" Jasmine asked with a grin.

"I appreciate this, but I don't really go for makeup." She reached for the box of tissues."

Cindy slapped her hand lightly.

"Ow!"

"You'll thank me later. Stand up."

Phoebe did, prepared to face the other girls' scrutiny. Two pairs of eyes, one blue, one green, gave her the once-over from her hair, loose and once more curly, to her gauzy shirt and tighter-than-necessary jeans, to the boots she'd stolen from Angelina's closet. "Well?"

"Knockout," Jasmine said immediately.

"The boots pinch my toes."

"Reese is picking you up… when?"

"Soon."

"Then we have time enough," Jasmine declared. "How are you going to sound?"

"Don't."

"How are you going to sound?" she insisted.

Phoebe sighed. "Fabulous."

"What kind of time are you going to have?"

"A great one."

"What is there going to be none of?"

She began to smile. "Angst."

"Great." Jasmine smiled back.

"Gorgeous," Cindy said dryly. She drew a squiggly line from her eye down her cheek. "See? Tear. Phoebe, can I use your bathroom?"

"Sure."

She picked up her purse and her makeup case. When she was gone, Jasmine turned to Phoebe again. "I think it's really great that you're going through with this. I know you really are going to sound fantastic."

"Thanks."

"Can I tell you something?"

Phoebe nodded.

"Last Friday, you know, up on the hill, I was really scared for you. I was" — she blushed — "with Kevin, and I looked out the window, and you were just _sitting_ there. Like you didn't know where you were. I don't know how, but I _knew_ Stephen had gone off and left you. And when you didn't answer me… I was scared," she repeated. "I thought maybe he had done something to you."

"In case you didn't notice, I had all my clothes on, and nothing was inside out."

Jasmine stared at the toes of her high-heeled sandals. "I don't mean… um… I don't mean that kind of something."

"What kind of something did you mean?" Phoebe asked, already knowing full well the answer.

"Well, um, I remember you telling me that he was…" The blush was back, as if this was something shameful or even embarrassing. "That he was… you know…"

"A mutant?"

"Thank you. He can, um, read minds, right?"

"Yeah."

"You probably don't know this" — Jasmine was looking her in the eye now — "but the ones who can… do that… are the ones who get the worst press with the Friends of Humanity. It makes them the most uncomfortable… I guess because it's different than flying or shooting fire. It has to do with people's private thoughts. And I thought that if he had hurt you, then I'd have a reason to tell Jeff, and he'd tell Randolph, and _he'd_ tell Mr. Creed —"

Phoebe cut her off. "I get the idea. So why didn't you?"

"Because I didn't know."

"What?"

"I didn't _know_ that anything bad had happened. For all I knew, you guys had just had a fight. I only thought that something more might have happened because of what everyone else in the group told me. And then I started thinking that everything I knew about, um…"

"Mutants," Phoebe prompted.

"Right. Everything I know about them, practically, is what I've heard from people who hate them. The only person who's ever told me the other side of the story — besides creepazoids like Charles Xavier — is _you_. And then I started thinking, _it's only because she's so crazy about him_, and then I started thinking, _isn't that enough_?"

Phoebe had been listening the whole time, but as she opened her mouth to answer, her eyes traveled for a second and caught sight of her reflection again. They'd been right. She didn't recognize herself. She wasn't facing the sweet peacemaker she'd been throughout the first half of high school, or the silent, angry mask she'd assumed during Stephen's absence, or the eyes that had become so full of secrets that she wondered how they kept from exploding. (Not a pretty picture. Where had that thought come from?) Those eyes were buried under paint, and promises she wasn't sure she'd be able to keep, and the desperate need to forget. She was facing a girl who had nothing to hide.

And behind this stranger, she could see the reflection of the open door.

"Sorry," said Cindy. "What'd I miss?" But the look that crossed her face, for a split second, showed that she had heard everything she needed to hear.


	41. Heart Songs

Chapter 40: Heart Songs

Note from Jubilee to Kitty, on Wednesday during class:

_Kit-Kat,_

_CAN YOU BELIEVE HIM? It's about HER, I know it. He's gone back to her, and now she's going to go postal the next time he even MENTIONS that he's one of us, and she'll break his heart again. I thought he was the sweetest guy on earth, and now it turns out that he's just another thickheaded boy with commitment issues and absolutely NO regard for anyone else's feelings. I can't stand this!_

_Jubes_

Kitty's reply to Jubilee:

_What are you talking about? Can't believe who? Never mind, don't tell me now. Mr. McCoy's giving us weird looks. Conference later. My room. Tell me EVERYTHING._

_Kitty_

**

"Tell me again why we're here?" Larry muttered out of the corner of his mouth.

"To hear my sister make her dazzling musical debut," Angelina replied, raising her voice so she could be heard over the music. "Believe me, it wasn't my idea. I'd rather be chilling with my friends or reading about power-hungry yet strangely attractive vampires." He bared his teeth and hissed at her, his face suddenly illuminated bright green by the revolving colored lights. "Nice try. But blood is thicker than water, I guess." She could see him stiffen. "Come on, the pun wasn't that bad."

"It's not that."

"Are you and your dad still fighting?"

Larry nodded.

"_Damn_."

"I guess he has a reason to be mad at me."

"How? You didn't say anything. Delia made everything up." She grimaced. She couldn't believe she'd once looked up to Delia Foxworth. Not that she'd completely given up the idea of a possible career in tabloids herself, though. Most people figured her for a potential truth-at-all-costs type of reporter, including Mr. Caisson and, most of the time, herself. It was her self-styled "wild side" who believed that a newspaper could be written for the purpose of entertaining as well as, or possibly instead of, informing. "I've never been cool with quoting people as saying things they haven't said, though. Have you told him that she got it all wrong?"

"I tried. He wouldn't listen. Oh surprise, surprise."

"Try harder."

Larry changed the subject. "God, this music is awful."

"I know. Say heck no to techno, right?" She checked her glow-in-the-dark watch. "Mr. Bad Taste Deejay will be leaving soon, though, and then it's Phoebe's turn."

"Want to dance, now that we're here?"

Before he could reply, two girls flounced by. One had stiffly sprayed blond hair and wore way too much raccoon makeup around her eyes. The other was decked out in glitter face paint and an armful of bangle bracelets, and it took Angelina a moment to recognize her as Larry's little sister, who never seemed to be home.

"Hi, Tanya," Larry said, rolling his eyes at Angelina.

"I _saw_ that. Kylie, this is my brother, Larry. And that's his _girlfriend_."

"How'd you guys get here?" Larry wanted to know.

"Kylie's mom dropped us off at the corner. God, can you imagine what would have happened if anyone had seen us getting out of the car?" Both of them giggled. They quieted down and faced the stage in time to hear Mr. Bad Taste Deejay introduce that night's only opening act.

Phoebe stood on the stage, looking very pretty and very nervous, with her keyboard balanced on a stand in front of her. After five straight nights of finding her sister plugging away on that thing until she was barely awake enough to stand, Angelina had briefly considered going down to the basement and taking an axe to it.

"I just wanted to say… before I started singing… that this song is dedicated to someone in the audience. In case he doesn't know, no matter where he goes, what he decides, or who he chooses, nothing will ever break the bond between us."

Angelina looked wildly around for the person she was sure those words were directed to, but she didn't see him. Presumably, though, Phoebe knew he was there. 

The end result of those practice sessions was still a complete mystery to her — she didn't recognize the music that Phoebe had started to play any more than she recognized her own mixture of pride and jealousy.

_Lying in my bed_

_I hear the clock tick_

_And think of you_

_Caught up in circles_

_Confusion is nothing new_

"Wow," Larry said, just loudly enough for Angelina to hear. "She's really good."

"Yeah," another voice agreed. "She is."

_Flashback_

_Warm nights_

_Almost left behind_

_Suitcases of memories_

_Time after…_

Under his familiar denim jacket, Stephen was wearing a shirt that read _I Only Open My Mouth To Change Feet_. His presence was a surprise to everyone… including himself.

He remembered emailing Jubilee after he and Phoebe had talked, telling her that he didn't think it was going to work between them. He knew that Jubilee would read the note and automatically assume that he was choosing Phoebe over her. She (and Kurt, who had assumed the same but actually congratulated him for it) couldn't be further from the truth. He almost wished it were that simple, and that he could have real, empirical evidence that he neither crazy nor a glutton for punishment. Not that being with Phoebe _was_ a punishment, of course.

He knew that by stopping a real relationship with Jubilee before it started, he was hurting her, and he didn't like to think of himself as being good at hurting people. Unfortunately, he knew better than to think of himself as being good at picking up the pieces afterward.

_Sometimes you picture me_

_I'm walking too far ahead_

_You're calling to me_

_I can't hear what you've said_

_Then you say, go slow_

_I fall behind_

_The second hand unwinds_

"Stephen, what are you doing here?" Angelina asked.

"I came to hear Phoebe sing." That was the truth, at least. He felt a surge of nostalgia just listening to her slightly tense (and it was a tension that would only be noticed by someone who had known her this long) but undeniably beautiful voice. He couldn't even remember the last time he'd really listened to her sing in front of people. That was a lie — of course he could remember, but after all this time, when he thought all the shame and all the confusion had disappeared, he still tried not to think about it too much.

The shame had disappeared. The confusion hadn't.

And something told him that it probably never would.

_If you're lost, you can look_

_And you will find me_

_Time after time_

_If you fall, I will catch you_

_I'll be waiting_

_Time after time_

_After the picture fades_

_And darkness has turned to gray_

_Watching through windows_

_You wonder if I'm okay_

_Secrets stolen from deep inside_

_The drum beats out of time_

"Can she actually play any real instrument?" Larry asked.

Angelina shoved him playfully. "Listen to you, Snooty McSnob!"

"What did you just call me?"

"'Can she actually play a real instrument?'" Angelina mimicked. "What makes you such a great music critic?"

"I wasn't being snooty, I was just being curious. Can she?"

"She used to say that she really wanted to learn guitar," Stephen recalled.

"Yeah, but she's not nearly good enough to do that in front of people. She's really into learning, though. Says people will take her more seriously if she isn't just some chick with a synthesizer and sex appeal."

"She really wants to go ahead and sing professionally?"

"Oh, she wants it. Whether she's actually going to try is something else. She needs to have more faith in herself."

"I think she has that," Stephen said quietly. "What's that old saying about what doesn't kill you makes you stronger?"

Larry looked certifiedly puzzled. "What's that supposed to mean?"

_If you're lost you can look_

_And you will find me_

_Time after time_

_If you fall, I will catch you_

_I'll be waiting_

_Time after time_

_Time after time_

_Time after time…_

She let the music fade out until only her voice remained, and allowed a beat of silence before calling out, "Thank you, everybody!"

Stephen wasn't sure who was the first to start clapping, but he was almost positive that he was the last to stop.

He couldn't have known why it would be best to enjoy what passed for happiness while it lasted.

A/N: The song in this chapter is, of course, "Time After Time" by Cyndi Lauper — an oldie but a goodie, and yet another perfect Stephen/Phoebe song. (I actually made a list; how pathetic am I?) Sandoz asked about giving our favorite frizzy-headed telepath some more action with Jubilee. Even though I've made up my mind about the PATL (Pure And True Love) in this story, I might fit in some more yearning on Jubes' part… and if you want, you can always write your own interpretation of that 'ship. If you'll excuse me, my muse is protesting that prospect violently. I'll have to go have words with him.


	42. Not Without a Fight

Chapter 41: Not Without A Fight

Stephen told Phoebe what a great job she'd done, but didn't trust himself to say anything else. He was ready to get out of there, anyway, and exited through the back door into the alley. What could happen here, anyway? This was Wallglass, after all, a small town where nobody ever got mugged for more than a coveted pencil, not a big city where much worse things happened every day.

He made his way toward the sidewalk, and was almost there when someone stepped out in front of him. "Hey, freak," Pat Fishburn, one of Jeff's minions, greeted him. "Fry anyone else's brain lately?" 

Pat wasn't alone, either. Brian and a few other guys were with him, and that alone knocked Stephen over with another powerful blast of déjà vu. Was that Kevin standing in the background — part of his old crowd, the first person to clue him in that his secret crush on Phoebe wasn't so secret?

No, of course it wasn't. Nor was Jeff anywhere to be seen — it was pretty obvious that he had risen to a higher place in the hierarchy. FOH pins glittered on every jacket.

That was the last thing he saw before he was tackled backward into the alley from which they'd emerged. He was sure he could have made a break for it, or gathered his wits to fight back somehow, if he hadn't been frozen for that one split second.

_(this can't be happening)_

His skull connected with the ground before he had time to question why nobody thought to turn in that direction — was everyone in Wallglass that far gone? — and caused him to actually see stars.

_(this isn't happening I'm up there not down there what if Jeff has that knife he always brags about it hurts why can't a voice break into my head now telling me what to do — use the force Luke — I would knock them down but I can't concentrate can't focus my mind like Xavier always taught me like a blade he said another simile I never wanted to hurt anyone that much but I do now it oh god I am I was once an X-Man I will not panic I will fight back this time it's my decision it is it is I will fight)_

He should have felt literally beat into submission, weakened, should have sensed the darkness blooming in slow-motion in the very center of his brain. But he felt something else there instead: an intense buzzing, like pure energy waiting to be focused and released.

_(those sheep making Phoebe's life a living hell and mine too maybe if I survive I should join the Brotherhood maybe Pietro was right)_

But he wouldn't think about that now. He could barely think about anything except

_(go down you bastard NOW)_

getting out of this alive.

A thud from somewhere behind him.

"What'd you just do, you freak?"

Distraction. On his feet. He didn't see the fallen form of one of Jeff's thugs behind him, or the awed and terrified faces that remained. He didn't even feel the pain anymore. He was super-charged, energized, like he could have taken all of them. It was a rush he hadn't felt since he'd struck back at Bobby Drake for insulting Phoebe. And he'd only punched Bobby out, had been tempted to use his power, but hadn't given in. He had been afraid of the consequences.

Or afraid of how good it would feel, to have struck someone down with a thought.

_Is this what I've turned into?_

_No. No. This is what I've always been._

He tapped again into that wellspring of mental energy, concentrated on the minds that had become little more than tangles of rage and terror, and struck again. Before his assailants could move forward again, each of them, one by one, clutched his head in agony, words becoming barely human howls.

_Good_.

One of them, the unknown party with the crew cut, was forced to his knees.

_Even better._ See how you like it, you scum. See how you like having everything you once were gone, burned away, incinerated. See how you like being knocked around by someone else. You didn't remember it last time, but this time you will. You'll remember what happens when you mess with us freaks.

At some point, he realized that all five of them — had there been only five, after all? — were on the ground and a small crowd had spilled out the door through which he'd come. He tasted blood, and realized that it was his own. Just like that, in a matter of perhaps moments, it was all over. He was no longer a blazing, boundless, vengeful warrior who could topple his attackers without lifting a finger, but out of breath, bruised, and more drained than he ever could have imagined.

_Did I kill them? What will happen now? What have I_ done?

Whispers, which he wasn't sure were spoken aloud or not, drifted among and above the astonished onlookers.

_so it's true_

_what happened_

_not a mark on them_

_remind me never to bust the wrong person up for money_

_one of those freaks_

_sneaking around that alley, thought he could avoid us forever_

_I'm getting out of here_

_he must have attacked them_

_what if one of my boys turns out like that_

_oh god not again Stephen what happened_

The "sound" of his name, as opposed to the anonymous images of him as "that freak" caused him to scan the crowd for its source. She'd been one of the first to come through the door. He could see her like she had been illuminated by a spotlight, and could just as clearly see the arms that were holding her back from all sides. Not her friends' or her sister's. She was being restrained by strangers who wanted to protect the helpless damsel from the mutant filth. "Stay back!" one of them shouted loudly enough for everyone to hear. "Don't touch it!" She told him to do something Stephen hadn't even realized was part of her vocabulary.

He could have made them release her, but he didn't want her near him either right now, for her own sake. He could wiped the memory clean away from all the onlookers as easily as he had done the same to his family over a year ago, but that wasn't him. He would not stoop to Xavier's level.

Besides, one person would know the truth. _We can run from the people who have tried to hurt us, but we can't run from ourselves. That's what he doesn't tell prospective disciples. And if we screw up, we can't run from what we did._

He knew that all too well.

But he ran anyway. Out the other end of the alley, into the night, not caring about what would have happened if he hadn't retaliated, not caring what would happen next, not caring enough to be disgusted at the thought that if Phoebe ran after him, he would stop her. Any way he could. He didn't even care about the look that had been on her face. That would return to haunt him later.


	43. A World Where We Belong

Chapter 42: A World Where We Belong

The calls started that evening and continued all the next day. Mostly classmates, to start. Trish. Haley. Reese, saying he should have known, asking if Phoebe wanted to talk about what was going on. Larry, early Sunday morning. She sat by the phone and listened to Angelina's side of the conversation. "I know." Pause. "I'm not going to ask you to try." Pause. "Thank you." Pause. "I'll try." She hung up and turned to Phoebe, who was sitting there in her pajamas, one finger marking her place in _Music in the Night_. "You're reading V.C. Andrews again?"

"It's better than chocolate because you don't get fat, and it's better than alcohol when you're down because it doesn't poison you."

"I thought we'd given all of those to the hospital."

"I saved out a couple." Incredibly, Phoebe was blushing.

"Larry wants me to come over in a little while. I'm going to go, but only if it's okay with you. Is it?"

Joanne had materialized before Phoebe could even think to reply. "I don't even think I need to say it," she began.

"If 'it' is 'I told you so' then don't," Phoebe replied, bracing herself for a lecture. Instead, her mother turned on her heel and exited the way she had come.

It wasn't his fault. She didn't know what had happened, but she knew that it couldn't have been his fault. He had been provoked; she was sure of that.

_So tell them that!_

_Tell who what? That you don't think he would have turned a bunch of guys into vegetables because_

_because_

_"Because the Stephen I know would never believe some manipulative creep over his best friend!"_

Words from almost a year ago, from a day she didn't think she'd ever forget. Strings of damp hair hanging in her face. A phone clutched tightly in her hand.

_"I'm not the Stephen you know, Phoebe. Not anymore. And if you can't accept that, I just feel sorry for you."_

_So you don't know for sure._

_Yes, I do. He might have changed, but he would never_

_You don't know._

_Yes. I. Do._

_He hurt you badly, not once, but twice. He made you cry. He can't forget what he is now, and neither can you. Why do you even care? He was right from the first. The friend you used to know is gone. For good. You can't turn things back to the way they used to be, so stop living in the past. Why can't you just move on?_

_Because he's one of the most important parts of my life, and now he's in danger. I don't just think it this time, I know. Because it wasn't his fault, no matter how much he's changed. Because he's not perfect. Nobody is._

_You're pathetic. You love an idea. A memory._

Her throat and her closed eyes hurt from holding back tears. A hand covered hers. Angelina's? Yes, she could feel the cool metal of rings and the warm skin. "Phoebe? You don't need to watch this."

"Yes, I do," she said mechanically. _I will be strong._

"Phoebe. Listen to me. Charity and Darren may be even more screwed up than Joanne, but they are not going to just sit around and let their own son be roasted by a big scary robot. If it even comes to that."

"It's going to come to that. You're dating the Sentinel maker's kid, you should know that."

"Don't call…" Angelina began automatically, then gave up home. It could be impossible, at times, to explain to anyone in Wallglass that people weren't _necessarily_ defined by things they couldn't control.

"I don't have time to worry about all that crap now!" Phoebe nearly snapped. "We lost, okay? Everything's over."

"Everything is _not_ over. You're doing it again."

"Doing what again?"

"Backing off because you're afraid of what might happen, instead of getting out there and doing something."

"What do you expect me to do?"

"What do you expect to do?" Angelina came right back.

"You sound like Margali."

"I'm waiting."

Phoebe thought it over. "They said that people were protesting. I'm going to get involved in that. Somehow. And if anyone asks me, I'll tell them what I think. The whole truth."

"Great! The truth rocks. And about Stephen?"

"Angel…"

"Don't 'Angel' me."

"I don't…"

"You don't what? Want to think about it? Remember what we discussed? So he's a different person now. So are you. We all are. And if he's still out there, he's going to need all the support he can get. If you don't want to answer that, answer this. Do you think he's innocent?"

"I know what he did," said Phoebe.

"Fine. Do you think there's more to the story than that?"

"Probably."

"Probably is good." Angelina held her sister at arm's length. "I'm really sorry. You know that, right?"

"Sorry for what?"

"Sorry that I wasn't there for you before. Don't you ever think that you can't tell me something. Okay?"

Phoebe closed her eyes again, feeling a tear tricking down one cheek. "I promise."

**

Eminem blared from Tanya's room, imploring the real Slim Shady to please stand up. Larry's closed door helped, helped, but not much. "Used to be my CD," he muttered. "But now I can't stand it. It's not that I mind the swearing, but I wish he'd say some other stuff, too."

"He seems to have a lot of hostility issues," Angelina said in a mock-analytical voice.

"How's Phoebe?"

"She's okay." She had left Phoebe waiting anxiously by the phone and hanging up whenever it turned out to be some anti-mutant loser calling her a freak-lover or asking her if she knew that those abominations were going to hell. After ensuring that her sister was absolutely, and without a doubt, okay, she had gotten her bike out of the garage and taken off through town and past the school. Although Phoebe had said she was all right, she _had_ been reading a V.C. Andrews book, and that was _never_ a good sign.

"I had a crazy thought." Larry suddenly became very interested in tracking a fly across the ceiling. "Want to hear it?"

"Always."

"Well, I was thinking that the two of us could, you know, go somewhere this summer."

Angelina stared. "Like where?"

"Like anywhere," he said.

"Like a road trip?"

"A lot like that, yeah." This time he looked at her, as if he were nervous about her reaction.

"Oh."

"Hey, don't sound too excited about the idea."

"It's not that I don't like it." Suddenly she could see it as clearly as he must have: cruising down the open road together, no schedule, no impressions to make, no fear. Squabbling over the radio, taking turns driving and sleeping. Seeing the sights, but mostly what lay between the sights. Total — and, she thought, well-deserved — freedom. It was a little scary… and more than a little attractive. "But who knows what might happen between now and summer?"

"What could happen?"

"Some gorgeous foreign exchange student could steal your heart," she suggested.

"Not going to happen."

"Or your dad could actually succeed in blowing up the world. Or we could remember that fantasizing and doing are two different things, or that we don't know each other as well as we could…" She stopped and made herself say the rest. "Or like each other as much as we think we do. Besides, I might have other plans, and they might not include cutting loose like that."

"But I do know you."

"No, you don't."

"I know enough. And as for the other part, I'm pretty sure that I like you more than I think I do." He stepped forward and wrapped his arms around her waist with the freakish confidence guys seemed to have. _It's probably because he's done this lots of times,_ she thought. _ I haven't. I've liked guys before — maybe not like this — but I haven't done the relationship thing. Not like Phoebe, definitely not like Joanne…_

_… which is a good thing. Because I'm not them. I don't have to be._

"Don't just kiss me, stand there," she whispered. "I mean… you know what I mean."

So he did. They were still standing there, still kissing, when the phone in the hall began ringing incessantly. "Tanya'll get it," he mumbled into her neck.

"With her music up that loudly?"

"Then the machine will."

"You should answer it."

"Is this just an excuse to stop kissing me?"

"You need to work on your self-esteem. Go answer it."

"I'll be right back," he promised and went to do so. "Hello?"

"Lawrence."

He closed his eyes, then opened them. "Hi, Dad. Listen, I'm sorry about…"

"Never mind that." Dr. Trask sounded uncharacteristically excited. "Have you seen the news yet?"

"Not yet."

"One of my creations captured one of the mutants who attacked Graydon Creed back in January."

_Stay calm. Don't explode in his face. Don't even try to figure out why you would even want to._ "What?" he asked, careful not to betray any emotion.

"The President finally gave me permission to send one of the Sentinels out," Dr. Trask elaborated. "And it caught that metal man and transported him back to my lab here in Washington before anyone could say, 'saving grace.' He's under observation there now, but so far we haven't been able to find too much out." All the deliberate calm that Larry remembered so well was gone from his father's voice now. "This is the beginning, son. The beginning of a new age for humanity. If all mutants are as easy to track down and detain as this one, they don't have a chance. It'll be the end of their reign. The end of our fear!" Now he was actually rambling.

Larry wanted to not listen. But even if he covered his ears, he knew he wouldn't be able to block out the voices that rose up from his memory._._

Phoebe. _"Joanne… Mom… what if it had been me? Would you treat me like this if…"_

Tanya. _"Do you think Dad would still love us if…"_

Xavier, at the debate. _"If your children came home from school one day with the news that they could warp metal or predict the future, would you see them any differently?"_

And, finally, Angelina, telling him that he should try harder to get through to the Mad Scientist. And somehow, he knew now what he hadn't understood then: she hadn't just been talking about the newspaper article. "Dad?"

"What is it?"

He took a deep breath. "These, um, mutations… they manifest around adolescence, right?"

"Yes." Dr. Trask sounded puzzled and… could it be… frightened? "Why do you ask."

Another deep breath. _You can do this._ "I'm not even seventeen yet," he said, his voice steady and firm. "Tanya's only fourteen. Remember?"

There was silence on the other end of the line. "You're not…"

It was the same thing Angelina's mother had said. "Not as far as I know. But it's not too late. We're not 'safe' yet. What if I turn out to be a mutant? What if I could" — he groped for an example, landed on his the innocent words he had tossed off in his sister's direction — "I don't know, see into the future, or something like that? And what about Tanya? Are we going to be menaces that need to be wiped out, too?"

"Nonsense. Things like that don't happen to…"

"To who?" Larry was losing his temper quickly. "To people like us? To the heir apparent to the Trask family cause? To people who hate mutants enough that it can somehow, I don't know, wipe out the x-gene? Reality check — things like this can happen to anyone. Even good people." He spoke more slowly, although his heart was racing. "They don't ask to be the way they are."

"What have they been teaching you in that town?" Dr. Trask demanded. "I took on this project to make the world safe for future generations. That means you and your sister, young man. And you are _not_ mutants!"

Larry leaned against the wall and closed his eyes. He had anticipated a violent reaction to the all-too-possible future that he'd implied. He'd feared the possibility of threats, insults, maybe a few exploded heads, but not this kind of vicious denial. His father wasn't just opposed to the possibility. He refused to believe that it existed at all, which was why the "lessons" he had administered all those years ago had never dealt with it. "Think about it. Please, Dad. I know it could happen, and I'm not scared. But I need to know that the people who were always there for me are going to stand by me no matter what. Not send killer robots after me."

"Lawrence, you're talking nonsense."

"I don't think it's nonsense. And I really hate my full name. Could you maybe try to call me Larry? Please? Maybe?"

After he had hung up, he turned around slowly and realized that Angelina had been standing a few feet away the whole time, watching him. He could see in her eyes that no matter how much she'd wanted to get involved, she had held back. Having some idea of what the crisis had done to Phoebe, Larry could hardly blame his girlfriend (and was she really that? How about that) for teaching herself to pick her battles. It was as good an Important Moral Lesson as any.

But mostly he could see that she was trying not to smile. And failing spectacularly.


	44. Whatever Tomorrow Brings

Chapter 43: Whatever Tomorrow Brings

The glass in the picture hanging over the stairs had been broken when hit by a projectile high heel over a year ago. It had been replaced soon after, as if everyone were anxious to erase all evidence of the fight. As if the family hadn't been shattered when its picture had.

_The perfect family. Successful father, loving mother, two adorable children. One of the more innocent, less fire-and-brimstone, and more practical catechisms Reverend Daddy taught me was that family came first. Always. A good family was what you worked for here on earth so that they'd be with you in heaven. I thought we had that. They say that people who are raised religious are born saps, but this was ridiculous. How could I have been fooled so easily as to think that just because we weren't like Joanne's family, we were perfect?_

Charity had found herself jumping at the sound of the phone all day. She had a feeling that this was only the beginning, and soon enough, they'd send reporters armed with flashing cameras and clipboards, salivating for the latest hot story in the continuing saga of the mutant crisis.

People knew. She couldn't even begin to guess how this was possible. She had a feeling that Stephen knew, but something inside her kept her from asking him. She was ashamed of this something, whatever it was, and even hated it, because it had made him a stranger to her. She wondered if he knew that ever since… well, she couldn't have really said when it had started, she had found herself imagining the horrendous questions they would ask.

_How did you feel when you first learned the truth?_

How had she _felt?_ She hadn't even known what it meant at first. Aliens in movies could read minds. Psychics on TV claimed to be able to. As a child, she'd been taught to believe that such things were the work of the devil, but now her own mind was more open. People changed with the times; why shouldn't God? Studies showed that telepathic phenomena existed. Why not here?

What if he had told her himself? _You guys_ — he always called them "you guys" as if they were friends of his instead of his parents — _I have something to tell you._

_Is this like, I got a really bad report card, or, aliens have agreed to take me away?_ Darren would have tried to lighten the mood, his voice betraying the worry every parent felt when their child approached them with those words.

_Somewhere in between, I think._ Yes, she was almost sure he would have said that.

What had scared her — and Darren, too, most likely — was the news that not only was their baby (okay, he'd been sixteen, but still her baby nonetheless) different, he was _part_ of something different. Part of a separate race of randomly altered humans, of _mutants_ (she remembered how hard it had once been for her to say the word) that were forced to live in secret. That were organized, seemingly, by a complete stranger. A race that Stephen was part of, and the rest of his family, the rest of the world he had always known, wasn't.

Joanne had told her she was "afraid to face facts." She wasn't. The fact was that he could read minds, not that it wouldn't take some getting used to, but it could have been a thousand times worse, and in a thousand different ways. With a little imagination, she might even have been able to imagine how he'd been _blessed_. No, it was the _implication_ that scared her, that had stopped the words in her throat as she tried to speak to him the second before it hit her: _He is not one of us anymore._

And he seemed to have known it, too.

_Did he seem any different afterward?_

Well, yes. After he'd returned from… that place, he'd been almost completely uncommunicative, spending most of his time in his room… or out with Phoebe. Charity tried to summon up some of the anger she had felt when the harassment at school had started, anger which she'd taken out on the girl herself at one point: _If it hadn't been for you, if he hadn't come back for you, none of this would havehappened._ It made perfect sense.

But she couldn't make herself blame Phoebe. Not just because she remembered thinking that Stephen and his longtime best friend would be the perfect couple, but because Phoebe had been caught up in this crisis as surely as the rest of them had. It had been her own confusion and feeling of absolute helplessness that had caused her to lash out at them that day.

_He controls people's minds and I don't trust him!_

Charity had known that both of these things were true the same day the bombshell had been dropped, but she had never been sure what the one had to do with the other. Xavier had been a stranger to her, a stranger who seemed to have their best interests at heart. Who had destroyed the fledgling hope that Stephen's new abilities would become as much a part of family life as the annual trip to Florida to visit Darren's parents, or Violet's annual pleas for a dog as a Christmas present despite her allergy. Who had then offered them a way out.

_At the door, which she held open for him and his white-haired companion:_

_"Are you all right, Mrs. Spencer?"_

_"What? Yes, I'm fine, Professor. This is just a little bit of a shock."_

_"No need for understatement. This is always hardest for the parents. Frankly, I'd be surprised if you weren't shocked. May I make you aware of something?"_

_"Please."_

_"This is not his fault. This is not your fault. There is nothing anyone could have done to prevent it. Right now, he needs your support and your guidance. And, most of all, your love."_

_"Th-thank you."_

_He planned it all out. He planned it so it would look like none of you had any choice._

_No, no, that's ridiculous! We didn't have a choice. And it killed me to let him go like that, but I knew it was for the best. That's all I wanted, really._

_Which was why you kept referring to his "situation" and his "difference."_

_I wanted to make it seem…_

_More normal?_

_Yes!_

_Even though you knew he wasn't?_

_It didn't matter! I loved him! I still love him, no matter what it is that he isn't telling me._

_Maybe he didn't know that._

_He knew what I was thinking! All the time! How could he have not known…_

_Some things need to be said out loud._

She wanted to believe that she had done what was best for him, for all of them. That she hadn't been the one to mess him up so badly that he didn't want to be considered part of this family anymore.

_"What do you suggest, we just send him away? Like we're rejecting him?"_

_"You know that's not true. So do I. So does he. We'd be helping him if we sent him away. You heard —"_

_"Yes, I did hear Xavier! I heard him say that Stephen was a freak!"_

_"He didn't say that, Charity, and you know it!"_

_"But that's what he meant! It's true. As long as he stays in this house, he's a freak!"_

_"Which is why we should —"_

_"You don't know what you're talking about, Darren!"_

_"But I know who I'm talking about. Do you? Or are you too busy worrying about what the rest of the PTA will think?"_

That was when she'd thrown her shoe at him. It had missed and hit the picture. The perfectly symbolic end to this perfect day.

_A freak._

_No matter what._

_There's more to that place than you know._

_Ask Stephen._

_Ask him._

She would. She would ask to hear everything, and she would listen, and she would let him know that it didn't matter what he was, it never had, never would. She would tell him what, out of habit, he still needed to hear out loud.

Someone was knocking relentlessly on the door. _ It's them_, she thought wildly, only half-aware of who "they" might be. Listen to me, she thought. Getting paranoid like this. _Next thing you know, I'll be saying that it's Xavier and that woman who came with him, and they've come to snatch Violet away from us, too._

_But it can't be_, she argued with herself as she rose to answer the door. _She's too young._

_She won't be too young forever._

Maybe Darren had been right. Maybe it was better for them to move. She'd been against it at first, but now it seemed like a better idea than ever. She had missed teaching more than she'd allowed herself to admit during the seven years in Wallglass when she'd just worked as a substitute. The four of them could start afresh in a new place, like a snake shedding its skin.

The knocking came again.

Charity paused and opened the door.

"Is Stephen here?" Phoebe asked.

**

Stephen had been able to fight back before they could beat him up too badly, but he still ached when he opened his eyes next morning. Ached inside and out. Nobody, not even Phoebe, had followed him last night. And his family, when he finally stumbled inside, hadn't asked any questions.

Thank God.

He lay on his bed, shirtless and with the cordless phone by his side, staring as if hypnotized at a piece of paper that he'd rescued from the pocket of his jeans. _You interested? You call. You squeal? You die._

He had thought about other options. He could stay here and face the abuse from his classmates and have what he'd done stare him in the face for the remainder of the school year, with the entire school looking away when he passed by, his locker vandalized like Phoebe's had been, and that Larry kid probably calling his crazy father every time something suspicious happened. And his family… he very nearly physically shuddered. Even Violet would cringe when he showed signs of getting mad at her.

Or he could return to the Institute, try to mend fences, become a full-fledged X-Man, and ignore the link between Phoebe's nightmares and his own. The terror that was the same for both of them: that he wouldn't be able to help himself someday, and lose control of his abilities, and not regret a single second of it. And the sense that someone was pitting that mutual fear against whatever it was that the two of them still shared. That someone was taunting them, judging them. _Testing_ them. It was a tough job, taking the only known human/mutant couple that could be located in the unforgiving outside world, and using them as guinea pigs in a race relations experiment. But somebody had to do it.

And then there was this third option — a sort of Mutant Foreign Legion, where freaks who no longer cared what _Homo sapiens_ thought of them could forget their pasts and base their lives on their gifts. Once upon a time, Stephen would have been disgusted at that idea. But — the fact that he'd been provoked notwithstanding — he'd effectively erased all his chances of being loved for _who_ he was if he stayed here. And this option was an entirely unknown quantity. He only had reason to believe that they were dangerous because Xavier had said so, and the beginning of the end of his life at the Institutewas realizing that that wasn't enough of a reason to believe anything.

The Brotherhood of Mutants. The name itself held the promise of something Stephen hadn't felt like he had in a long time: family.

Someone knocked at the door. "Who is it?" he yelled.

"Got a minute, stranger?"

_No. Not now. Oh, man._ "Go away!"

"Stephen, let me in!" came Phoebe's voice.

"I said —"

"And I heard you. Now let me in."

"Leave before I make you." The tears were already forming in his eyes before he had finished speaking.

There was a long silence. _ Good, she's gone._ Then, "I'm not scared of you."

Stephen got to his feet, leaving the note on the bed, and, despite himself, opened the door.

The first thing Phoebe said was, "Don't blame yourself."

"You saw what I was like last night, and that's all you have to say?"

"They were trying to kill you," she said forcefully. "I can't believe some of those guys would ever do something like that. They always seemed so nice." _You must feel terrible._

"You're right. I do feel terrible. Thanks for rubbing it in."

She flinched, but stayed where she was. "Jasmine just called me. They're going to be okay. They remember everything that happened, though."

"That's what I'm afraid of." He met her eyes. "You're really not going to leave me alone, are you?"

She stared back. "I'm really not." 

"You're not _scared_ of me?" He knew he sounded like a little kid hoping to get some mileage out of his Halloween costume.

"Hmm. We once tried to make nachos together and covered half the kitchen in processed cheese," Phoebe said slowly. "I convinced you not to run away to Australia to keep from having to play baseball anymore. You got me to sing karaoke in front of a roomful of people. No, I'm not scared of you."

"Why?" _Why her?_ _Why now? Why can't she make this easy for me?_ "Don't you have any idea what I could do?"

"Yes!" she almost screamed. "Do you think you're the only one who's had to live with knowing what you're capable of? I know it all. You could wipe my memory, or you could dig up all my secrets, or you could make me so —"

"— so loyal to me that you'd follow me off the end of a cliff," Stephen finished with her, knowing that she'd had the same nightmare, and hating Xavier all the more because of it.

She didn't seem to care that he knew. "So if you're going to do any of those things, go ahead."

"What?"

"I know that when people were trying to kill you just for being different from them, you fought back the only way you could. And now you're as afraid of yourself as you were two years ago."

"And maybe you don't know what that means."

"Maybe I know exactly what that means," she snapped. "And maybe I _love_ you, and that's why there's only one way you can make me leave you alone. So if you to pretend you're a menace to society, or if you just want to prove that you're a menace to _me_, then go ahead. Take your best shot." She stood there, still framed by the doorway, and waited.

With all his might, Stephen tried to summon up the image of her hurt, scared, and angry face the night they'd fought. How she'd refused to listen to him. How she'd called him a paranoid mutie. But he kept getting stuck on the last time she'd let him completely into her head, exposed her most painful memory, with no defenses and no shields. All she had known, at that moment, was that she had trusted him, because she had seen past the work of chance and genetics and known that… that he was…

_You are not a prisoner of what you are._

She hadn't even needed him to assure her that he wouldn't hurt her, wouldn't get any deeper into her thoughts than she wanted, wouldn't give into the temptation to erase the damage or alter her feelings for him. She had _known_.

But what he was facing now wasn't an admission. It was a _challenge_. It was one he could accept, not to cause anything she couldn't recover from, just to put a scare into her so she would leave him alone and let him carry out his decision to find the last place where he might belong. He could make the call and leave the rest to destiny. Just like he could have returned to the safe, secure world Xavier had set up, succumb to the future that had been so neatly laid out, restart something with a girl who would have done anything for him, and tricked himself into believing that safety was really all he ever wanted.

Or he could stay here and do exactly what she had suggested: make decisions based on what he wanted, not on what he was. "You love me?" he said at last. _I can't believe this_.

"Maybe."

And what he wanted, right now, was to fight for the one thing that he hadn't _stopped_ wanting even when his entire world had turned upside down. "Well, maybe I love you, too."

"Well, maybe that's enough."

"Maybe it is," he answered. "Knock on wood."

No doubt about it, he was scared. Scared of returning to school, scared of facing the future, but he was deluding himself if he thought he'd be able to face it without her. She was his challenge, his comfort, his saving grace. They had started this journey together, and they would finish it together. He hoped.

Later, much later, he crumpled up Pietro's note and threw it away.

A/N: It's so sappy, so sentimental… and so not over. Stick around for the epilogue!


	45. Epilogue

Epilogue

_WASHINGTON, D.C. — The Pentagon laboratory designated to noted weapons designer Dr. Bolivar Trask was subject to a mysterious fire last night. As of now, it has been determined that there were no casualties, nor was much of the building outside the lab harmed._

_The existing models of the widely advertised — and controversial — mutant-tracking robots, dubbed "Sentinels" by their creator, were destroyed, and the unidentified metallic mutant that they had recently apprehended appeared also to have escaped the blaze and is still at large. Arson is suspected but not proven. "Even assuming that it was as deliberate as the precision of the damage indicates," says Officer Janice Lowell of the District of Columbia Police Department, "it could have been anyone from a pro-mutant extremist to a scheming long-lost relative. It could even be some of Metal Man's pals who took the opportunity to make a statement while they rescued him and destroyed the number-one threat to their kind."_

_While obviously disappointed at the loss of all his hard work, and although his opinion of mutants has not changed, Dr. Trask confesses that he was on the verge of experiencing a change of heart when the incident occurred. "I take it as a sign that the world is not yet ready for such extreme measures against the mutant menace," he told reporters. "The design data was not lost, however and perhaps there will come a time when we have need of Sentinels…"_

— _From an Internet news article dated March 20, 2003_

**

_…in addition to keeping a strict watch out for mutant-directed vandalism and violence, the principal is reinforcing the school rule against recruiting for the Friends of Humanity or wearing membership pins on campus. There's been a lot of protest about this, especially from FOH enthusiasts who believe that the ruling curtails their freedom of speech._

_There's a difference, though, between speaking our minds and allowing our outrageous actions to speak for us, or, especially, our racist and destructive ones. Just as you can't shout "Fire!" in a crowded theater, you shouldn't expect to be able to shout "Dangerous freaks among us!" in a public high school without stirring up the masses, and possibly putting some innocent lives and reputations on the line._

_With only a couple of months left in his high school career, Stephen Spencer chose not to make any efforts to save his reputation. However, since the year before last, he did stop at nothing short of mind control to keep his true nature under wraps and just live a basically normal life. There may be other mutants in this school who, like him, want nothing more than to be accepted by their peers on the terms of who they choose to be, not what's supposedly "wrong" with them. However, unlike him, they might also have to worry about how that decision is going to affect the next year, or even two or three years, that they're among us. And even after they leave, what then? A fresh start may not be as easy for some as it is for others._

_High school isn't perfect, and ours is no exception, but it should be considered neutral ground, a place where we can build our own reputations, our own stories, our own futures. And "we" means all of us, no matter who or what we are. Some of us, deep down, have known that the whole time, even if we didn't know we knew it. Now we have to make sure other people know it too._

— _Angelina Corlisle, Eyewitness Editor-in-Chief_

**

_To: fuzzy_elf@xnet.edu_

_From: stevie_wonder@hotmail.com_

_Subject: article_

_Attached is a copy of the editorial Phoebe's sister wrote for our school paper. I don't care that she mentioned me, even though I'm surprised Mr. Caisson let her leave in the part about our high school not being perfect._

_Things have gotten a little bit better. I guess I expected people to understand me a little more now that it's out in the open and she wrote about it, and people like Jasmine and Kevin are leaving the FOH, and this whole thing isn't going on the record so I still have a chance at getting into a good, normal school, if I decide I still want that. And now that the Sentinel thing has gone kaput, of course. But that doesn't mean that most of my classmates aren't still scared of me. The five guys who came after me still run really, really quickly in the opposite direction when I pass by. I think they'll be scared until I'm gone, or at least I can prove to everyone that I'm not going to use my powers to cheat on tests or hook pretty girls. Which doesn't make sense, because I have the only pretty girl I've ever wanted. I guess maybe I underestimated how important it was to have someone who's seen the full package and still wants to be near me. Hint. Hint._

_Here's one thing I've decided that all mutants, everywhere, have in common: we can laugh in the face of whoever said that the high school years are the ones we look back on fondly._

_The future lies ahead, fuzzy one._

_Say hi to Bobby and Jubes for me._

_Your enlightened friend,_

_Stephen_

A/N: This is me, taking the opportunity to thank all my amazing readers for your patience and support. I hope this version of Peace of Mind at least measures up to the promise made by the first one, and that you'll stick around for whatever I have planned next. I could tell you, but then I'd have to have my muse modify your memory.

**Did I agree to this?**

Excuse us.

XOXOXO

Neva


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